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No. 38. 


Price, 25c. 





Issued Weekly Annual Subscription, $12.00. 
s^ /ZoL. August 23, 1890. 

Entered at the New York Post Office as second class matter 


IN THE SUNK LANDS, 


WALTER F. BRUNS 


IL LVSTRA^T ED. 

No wpvrioU books by .eadiW auth^for. 

inmtrU and purtto were ever before publwhedfor less Uum a mwv- 

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PLYINt; THK AXE, WAS A TRIM LITTLE FIGURE IN LEATHER AND VELVET 




IN THE SUNK LANDS 


BY 

WALTER F. BRUNS 



NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 







i' 





IN THE SUNK LANDS; 

OR, 

THE ADVENTURES OF THE X. T. C. QUARTETTE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE PEOPOSITION. 

“ Steve ! ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Expect Jimmerson this morning. Keep 
him till I get back — important — Johnson’s.” 

And crusty Mr. Roberts, sole proprietor 
of the establishment of I. J. Roberts, hide 
and fur dealer, caught up his faded um- 
brella and darted through the door bound 
on his business errand. 

Hardly had he disappeared, when the 
wareroom door was burst open Avith a sud- 
denness that caused me to spring six inches 
olF my high stool, and a young gentleman 


6 


JiV THE SUNK LANDS. 


of seventeen launched himself into the 
office. 

“ Hi, Steve ! I’ve got it ! ” 

“ What ? Saint Vitus’s dance ? ” 

“ No, sir-ee ! A great scheme ! We’re 
going hunting ! ” 

“ We are ? ” I asked, in surprise, this 
being my first intimation of such a proceed- 
ing. “ Where ? ” 

“ Oh — why — somewhere.” 

Then dropping his voice to an awe-struck 
whisper, as he glanced cautiously around, 
he continued irreverently : 

“ Where’s Kobby ? ” 

“ Just gone out.” 

“ Oh,” with a sigh of relief. “ Forgot 
all about him ; was so excited. Run all 
the way down here. Glad I came through 
the wareroom, though I nearly fainted. 
Why don’t you throw some disinfectants 
around out there ? Me and the old codger 
don’t hitch since he caught me boring holes 
with his gold pen. Strange.” 

“ Very,” I I’eplied. “ But what about 
this hunt ? ,Have you told the boys ? What 
did they say ? Where do you intend to 
go?” 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


7 


“ Here, hold on ! One thing at a time. 
I’ve told Joe and Treve, and they’re wild 
over it. As to where we’ll go, I haven’t 
decided. Somewhere where there’s big 
game — no more snipe shooting for me ; got 
to give those Winchester rifles and our dogs 
an airing. Now, Steve, if yon know of any 
place, I, Robert Cross, president and gen- 
eral manager of the Ecstasy Quartette, will 

be delighted to receive any suggestion ” 

“ Why, of course I do ! ” I interrupted, 
a bright idea striking me. “ The very 
thing. Jimmerson will be here this morn- 
ing ” 

“ Here ! What’s the matter ? ” cried Bob 
in alarm, as I waltzed around the small 
office, knocking over three stools and the 
coal bucket. “ Who is Jimmerson ? ” 

“ Why, don’t you know Jimmerson ? ” 

“ Never having seen him, can’t say that 
I have met him,” was the prudent reply. 
“Neither have I,” I admitted. “He’s 

our agent in the sunk lands ” 

“ Where’s the sunk lands ? ” 

“Great Scott! Can’t you give me a 
chance? These sunk lands are in the 
southeastern part of Missouri and the 


8 


isr THE SUNK LANDS. 


northeastern part of Arkansas. They are 
gloomy swamps, chuck hill of game from a 
deer to a swamp rabbit, and — er — well, for 
farther particulars I refer you to Mr. Isaac 
dimmer ” 

I finished with a fiourish of my arm, but 
inadvertently stepping on a lump of coal, 
sat down with great rapidity and violence 
in the scuttle. 

“ Gad ! What a head you have,” said 
Bob, admiringly. “ Don’t you ever part 
with it or you’ll lose something.” 

I treasured this information accordingly. 

“ And now for Jimmerson,” went on Bob, 
after I had extricated myself. 

“ Jimmerson lives somewhere in the sunk 
lands. Buys pelts from the hunters and 
trappers and gets a certain per cent on the 
profit of the lot. By buying with powder, 
shot, etc. , and very little money, he manages 
to make a pretty large income. Comes up 
here just before the season opens for money 
and orders.” 

“ Well,” said Bob, rising, “ then I had 
better go around and tell Judicial Joe and 
Treve that you’re going and that they had 
better ask for a vacation ? ” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 9 

“ Yes.” 

“ All right.” 

He closed the door, but quickly opened 
it to call back : 

“ You attend to Jimmerson and I’ll ” 

“ Not jess now you won’t ! ” I heard a 
gruff voice exclaim. 

Then came sounds of a struggle, and the 
next moment Bob was shoved violently 
back into the office, followed by a stranger, 
who shut the door and placed his back 
against it. 

He was a tall man, straight as a plumb 
line, with a straggling beard, hair per- 
suaded to retain the semblance of a part 
by a liberal coating of yellow soap, and a 
pair of snapping black eyes peering out 
of a nut-brown countenance. One cal- 
loused, brown hand, resting suggestively 
on a singular protuberance in the region of 
the coat tails of his coarse tweed suit, 
filled me with alarm. 

Under the impression that he was an 
escaped maniac, I promptly placed the 
stove between us, and, judging from Bob’s 
ineffectual attempts to get behind the vault 


10 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


door, that stood close to the wall, he was 
of the same opinion. 

“ I’m onto confeedence men,” said the 
stranger, eying Bob’s neat business suit 
suspiciously. “ Y’all never kotch a weasel 
asleep.” 

We agreed with him. 

“ Nur you-uns kain’t me. It’s nigh on a 
year since I been up yere, an’ I reckon 
I’m kinder turned around. This I. J. Rob- 
erts’s ? ” 

“ Are you Mr. Jimmerson ? ” I asked, 
beginning to understand the situation. 

“ Mebby I am,” he replied, cautiously, 
looking curiously at me. 

“ We were just speaking of you,” said 
Bob, coming from behind the vault door. 

“ I heered you,” was the dry reply. 
“ An’ now, afore I get my hat, which same 
drapped outside when I kotched this yere 
feller, mebby you-uns’ll tell me what you 
want ? ” 

“ We’re going down in the sunk lands,” 
I replied promptly. 

“You air? What fur? I tell you hit 
won’t do ! ” he cried, bringing his fist down 
on a desk with a foi’ce that shook the office 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


11 


and made two boys jump. “ The fellers 
don’t know you down there, an’ you’d git 
your haids knocked olfn less’n a week ! ” 

“ Our heads knocked off ! ” gasped Bob. 

“ Is that what I said ? ” asked Mr. Jim- 
merson, turning suddenly on him, 

“ Wh — why, yes.” 

“ Then that’s what I meant.’ Sides that, 
you don’t know the kentry, an’ as fur trad- 
in’, why, they’d cheat you-uns outen your 
eye teeth afore you could say ‘ Jack Rob- 
inson’ with your mouth open, Nusser ! 
Don’t go meddlin’ in my affairs ; I kin 
hold my end o’ the business up.” 

“ Oh-o-o ! ” I exclaimed, a sudden light 
breaking on me, “ We don’t want to de- 
prive you of your position. All we want 
is a good place to hunt,” 

“ Jerusalem crickets ! ” ejaculated Mr. 
Jimmerson, a broad smile splitting his 
weather-beaten countenance. “ Why didn’t 
you say so afore ? Kim down where I live, 
an’ I kin show you more game’n you kin 
shake a stick at ! ” 

“ What kind of game ? ” we asked 
breathlessly. 

“ Well, there’s b’ar, deer, swamp rabbits, 


12 


IN THE SUNK LANHS. 


squirrels, ’possums, coons, wild cats, cat- 
amounts, turkeys, ducks, geese, swans, 
brants an’ wild hogs. You kin have some 
fun a-trappin’ the mink, otter, muskrat an’ 
weasels. ’Bides that, there’s moughty 
good fishin’ in the bayous.” 

“ Just the place for us,” I cried, enthusi- 
astically, as Mr. Jimmerson paused. 

“ And mud and mosquitoes,” observed 
Bob. 

“Yes, plenty o’ that in the spring an’ 
summer ; but this late in the fall the 
ground’s purty firm, an’ the first good cold 
snap sends the skeeters higher’n Gilroy’s 
kite,” replied Mr. Jimmerson. 

“ What caused these sunk lands ? ” asked 
Bob. 

Mr. Jimmerson first went out and secured 
his hat. Then, assuming an easy position 
with his feet against the stove, he began: 

“ As near as I know, hit was caused by 
evolutions o’ natur’. Along between the 
years o’ 1811 an’ ’13 we had a lot o’ earth- 
quakes down our way — by which I mean 
the southeastern part o’ Misery an’ the 
northeastern part o’ Arkansaw — an’ what 
was good land sunk down, an’ what was 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


13 


swamps ris up. Whole plantations went 
down ; the old Mississippi boomed in an’ 
filled ’em up, an’ there she stands to this 
day, kivered with heavy timber, bogs an’ 
’casional patches o’ firm land. People who 
lost their land, an’ all they had with hit, 
was so destertute that the Government 
made a ’propriation an’ deeded ’em new 
land fur what they lost. No one lives in 
the swamps but a lot o’ trappers an’ hun- 
ters, who make their livin’ trappin’ fur 
skins. I know a right smart lot o’ them. 
Each one holds his claim by an unwritten 
law,’ an’ his rifle, an’ any feller as tries to 
jump hit, or trap hit ’thout permission, 
runs a pow’ful good chance o’ gettin’ a 
bullet in his maw ! ” 

I looked at Bob, and he looked at me. 
Already the conversation had a ring of 
excitement. 

“ Are there any claims left ? ” I ventured 
to ask. 

“ I don’t reckon you-uns could find a 
likely one, ’thout runnin ag’in some o’ them, 
or ag’in somebody as purtends to be one 
o’ them, fur there’s a heapin’ big lot o’ 
scoundrels down there ; but I’ve got a shanty 


14 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

on Muddy Run, about eight miles from 
Maumelle Lake, that you kin have, an’ I 
don’t reckon any one’ll pester you-uns 
there. If they do, warn ’em off, an’ ef they 
don’t go, send a charge o’ buckshot into 
’em !” 

Mr. Jimmerson finished this cold-blooded 
suggestion with a careless air that froze 
our blood. 

“ And now, as to the best way for us to 
go ? ” hinted Bob, who was business clear 
through. I would not have thought of half 
that he did. 

“ I ginerally ride across to Jonesboro — 
that’s about twenty-five mile from where I 
live — an’ take the Scott R. R. up yere to 
Kansas City. Hit’s about a hundred an 
twenty mile. Now, if I was in you-uns’ 
place. I’d git off" at Jonesboro, an’ hire a 
hoss an’ waggin to ride across the kentry. 
You kin always use a hoss in camp. I 
might meet you-uns there ; but I wouldn’t 
know when you was cornin’.” 

“ We could write,” said Bob. 

“ ’Twouldn’t do me any good. Nary one 
in our family kin read or write. We have 
to go to Jonesboro once’n a while to stock 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


15 


up ; but we don’t go more’n once in two 
monts. 

“ You-uns’ll want somebody along to 
kinder keep you from gettin’ lost,” contin- 
ued Mr. Jimmerson, after several moments 
of silence, “ an’ I reckon my boy Sammy’ll 
about jump outen his hide at such a chance. 
He’s a mighty peart boy, Sammy is.” 

So, by mutual consent and without a 
word, Sammy Jimmerson was admitted in- 
to the company of the Ecstasy Quartette, 
pending our arrival at the Jimmerson man- 
sion. 

A quick step on the platform outside, 
and the high, raspy voice of Mr. Roberts 
giving directions about some hides, brought 
the conference to a close. 

I was again bending over a heavy column 
of neglected figures. Bob had disappeared 
through the wareroom. Mr. . Jimmerson, 
noting the sudden change, brought his feet 
down off the stove with remarkable dexter- 
ity, and stood twisting his straggling beard 
nervously when Mr. Roberts came in. 

He was taken into the private office, and 
the rest of the day, when I was not busy 
with the books or thinking about the great 


16 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


hunt, 1 heard the faint hum of their conver- 
sation. 

At last Mr, Jimmerson went away, be- 
stowing a very knowing wink on me as he 
was shown through the office by Mr. Roberts. 

“ Steve !” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ I’m going home now,” continued Mr. 
Roberts, drawing on his shabby overcoat, 
“ Jimmerson will be back about five. Give 
him this package of money, and tell him by 
all means, to use it sparingly,” 

And with a tight grip on his umbrella 
and a groan at the thought of paying out 
so much, Mr. Roberts departed, 

I placed the money, which was inclosed 
in an old envelope — Mr. Roberts was too 
parsimonious to use a new one — on the 
desk, by the side of a set of old books 
that had been taken from the vault to look 
up an old account. 

Mr. Jimmerson did not come. 

After waiting until patience was exhaust- 
ed, I closed the books, put them away in 
the vault, donned my overcoat and went 
home, forgetful of the fact that the envelope 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


17 


containing the money lay in plain view on 
the desk. 

I awoke in the night and happened to 
think of it, but consoled myself with the 
thought that the envelope bore too battered 
an appearance to be confiscated as an article 
of value. 

And that very “ battered aspect,” coupled 
with Mr. Jimmerson’s non-appearance, 
started the X. T. C. Quartette on their hunt 
in the sunk lands a great deal quicker than 
they anticipated. 


18 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE QUARTETTE, THE DEN, AND THE ARSENAL. 

Now, before I go any farther, perhaps I 
had better introduce you to the X. T. C. 
Quartette and its members. 

In the first place, it was composed of four 
as mischief-loving youths as ever grouped 
themselves together. They did not fol- 
low the antics of a great many of the city 
clubs, by congregating at different places 
to exchange a lot of worthless conversation, 
but turned their views to another direction. 
A large front room on the second fioor of 
our house was utilized as a club room, and 
here, in the cold winter evenings, could be 
found the four members, with perhaps, 
occasionally, friends. 

And what a room that was ! 

On the left, as one entered, was a large, 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


19 


glass-doored gun-case, containing our ar- 
senal. The drawers underneath were filled 
with shot, empty and loaded shells, and the 
paraphernalia for loading the same. Powder 
we bought as we needed it, being strictly 
prohibited from keeping it in the house. 
On the right a young library sprouted out, 
reaching from the floor to very near the 
ceiling, and from one end of the room to 
the other. It had already reached nine 
hundred and forty volumes, and numerous 
hints were thrown out to the household 
that another room would be acceptable. 

Mineral and coin collection cases found 
places between the windows. A large, 
green baize table had the center of the room, 
and from the ceiling above it hung a low 
swinging lamp. Magazines and periodicals 
fllled the rack underneath, and the cards 
and boards of different games crowded the 
drawers. Easy -chairs occupied the rest of 
the available space. A ferocious looking 
wild cat and a sage hen looked down from 
above the gun-case. The cat had lost an 
eye, and the sage hen a great many feath- 
ers ; but Treve refused to take them down, 
as they were a present from an uncle a 


20 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


number of years before, and so they were 
allowed to remain on sufferance. Joe’s 
taxidermic collection occupied the top 
shelf of the library. 

And now that I have described the 
“ den,” 1 will turn to its inhabitants. 

The first on the list, from his command- 
ing position of president and general mana- 
ger, is Bob. He was introduced to us as 
Robert A. Cross ; but ten minutes after we 
called him Bob, and Bob he has remained 
ever since. Just imagine an airy, breezy 
youth of seventeen, with a face like a girl’s, 
dark eyes and brown hair, and a disposition 
that no one could ruffle, and you have a 
picture of Bob. A good shot with a rifle 
or gun, head and heels in anything like 
fun, courteous and pleasant in address ; do 
you wonder that he was a favorite with the 
boys, and that people called him “ clever ? ” 
He owns a pair of pointers that, for that 
class of dogs, cannot be beat. 

The next is Treve. Of course you know 
that Treve is my twin brother ; but unless 
you have known us half our lives, you can- 
not distinguish us apart — he either looks so 
much like me, or I so much like him. This 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


21 


same resemblance is sometimes embarrass- 
ing for me, for Treve possesses a terrible 
tendency for getting into mischief, and it 
is an ordinary occurrence for me to be col- 
lared by some irate citizen and read a lecture 
a yai’d long for something Treve has done. 
He is a big, blue-eyed, black-haired boy, 
with a countenance that is continually smil- 
ing, He is a little over seventeen, and forty- 
five-minutes younger than I am ; but this 
priority on my part, somehow, he fails to 
recognize, Treve owns an Irish setter over 
which he makes big pretensions, but which, 
notwithstanding, fiushes the game before 
you could hit it with a rifie, 

Joseph B, Miller is the third member of 
the X, T, C, Quartette, Judicial Joe, we 
sometimes call him, one reason being that 
he is studying law, and the other that he 
carries a very solemn countenance — a direct 
contradiction to his disposition, for a more 
lively and amiable companion cannot be 
found, Joe can get in, and get out — by 
means of his countenance, mentioned 
before — of more mischief in a given time 
than any person I know, not excepting 
Treve, He is the crack shot of the quartette, 


22 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

and owns a small water spaniel of remark- 
able intelligence, and an English setter. 

As for myself, being naturally modest, I 
will say very little, although I take a back 
seat for no one. Having described Treve, 
and stated that he was my twin brother, a 
pen picture of myself is unnecessary, I 
am the secretary of the quartette, and it is 
from the statistic reports and a good mem- 
ory that I write this story, I am a fair 
shot, and own two of the best dogs in the 
quartette. They are Gordon setters, Dave 
and Dan, and have won prizes at shows. 
Now for the “ arsenal,” 

Throwing open the glass doors, the first 
three guns belong to Bob, The first is a 
heavy breech-loader, gauge 10, choke bore, 
good for long range and duck shooting, and 
nothing else. The second is a light gauge 
12, fine for field shooting. The third is a 
Winchester rifle, 45 caliber, 16 shot. The 
next three belong to me. They are the 
same as Bob’s with the exception that the 
10 is not a choke bore, 

Treve delights in the possession of the 
next three. His are the same, with the 
modification of the heavy 10, one barrel of 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


23 


which is rifled for ball, Joe has the largest. 
He has the customary heavy 10, light 12, 
Winchester, and boasts the farther posses- 
sion of a little German rifle that throws a 
bullet thirteen to the pound sewed in greased 
buckskin. 

The latter has its drawbacks with the 
rest of us, being a muzzle-loader, but it 
suits Joe, One shot is all he wants, except 
on rare occasions, and anything he shoots 
at is as good as dead before the buckskin 
covered bullet strikes it. The Winchester 
rifles that each one of us possessed were a 
present from Bob’s father, a banker of some 
note. 

Thus far our shooting had been confined 
to clay pigeons, snipe, squirrels, rabbits, 
and occasionally a go at ducks and quail; 
but to go where there were bear, deer, pan- 
ther, and other large game — well, I might 
say what Treve did — “geewhiz !” 


24 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER III. 

IN THE SUNK LANDS — HELD UP. 

My first move the next morning was for 
that package of money. My heart went 
down into my shoes when I found it gone ! 

I ransacked the desk, explored every 
corner of the office, thinking a draft might 
have wafted it off; but it was useless. 
No money. I examined windows, which 
were fastened, and the door, to which there 
were three keys. One I had, one belonged 
to Mr. Roberts, and the third to the watch- 
man and janitor, Mike O’Connor. 

Mr. Roberts was already in his office when 
I arrived. Might he not have seen it lying 
carelessly on the desk and removed it ? I 
would investigate before interrogating Mike. 
So I called forth a light smile, which I 
am afraid was rather sickly looking, and 
tripped in. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


26 


“ Good-morning,” he said gruffly, 

I responded, and immediately launched 
forth on my errand, 

“ Mr, Jimmerson did not call last 
night,” I began, .“I neglected to put the 
money in the vault, and left it on the desk. 
Have you seen it ? ” 

“Have I seen it!” he repeated, still 
bending over his desk, “ No, sir, ’ 

“ Then it’s gone ! ” I gasped, 

“Eh?” he cried, swinging around, 
“ Gone where ? ” 

What a question ! I was about to say that 
if I knew I would go after it, but, realizing 
the difference in our positions, I replied : 

“ I don’t know, sir,” 

“ Were the windows fastened when you 
went home? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” 

“ Door ? Yes, I know, I unlocked it my- 
self, Maybe Mike found it and put it in a 
safe place,” 

“ Maybe he did,” I acquiesced. I’ll call 
him,” Mike was sent for, 

“ Did you clean the office this morning ? ” 
asked Mr, Eoberts, with a severe frown, as 
Mike stepped in. 


26 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Oi did,” said Mike, looking at us both 
and scratching his head. 

“ Find anything unusual ? ” 

“No, sorr.” 

“ Didn’t you find an envelope containing 
money, on the desk ?” I broke in. 

“ Wor it a yaller wan ? ” asked Mike, 
suddenly beginning to get red as he twisted 
his hat and shuffled from one foot to the 
other. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oi did.” 

“And what did you do with it?” de- 
manded Mr. Roberts. 

Mike hemmed and hawed several times, 
and then replied : 

“Oi burned it, sorr ! ” 

“ You what ? ” yelled Mr. Roberts, grab- 
bing his desk and trying to lift it off the 
floor, while I slid into the nearest chair. 

“ Oi burned it, sorr,” repeated Mike stol- 
idly. 

“ Burr-r-r ! ” spluttered Mr. Roberts, tear- 
ing at his collar and trying to get hold of a 
paper weight at the same time. ‘ ‘ And it con- 
tained fourteen hundred dollars! Waugh! 
Why, you infernal third cousin to a chim- 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


27 


panzee, you’re greener than the shamrock 
you’re continually singing about ! What 
did you do it for ? ” 

“ Yez told me to,” replied Mike, calmly. 

“ I told you to ! Hold him somebody ; 
I’m liable to hurt myself ! I’ll have you in 
a lunatic asylum before night. When did 
I give you any such a hare-brained order ? ” 

“ The other day. Yez kim to me, an’ ye 
sez, sez ye, ‘ Moike,’ an’ Oi sez ‘Phat?’ 
an’ thin ye sez, sez ye, ‘ t’row all the old 
paper you foind scribbled over in the foire; 
it looks bad,’ an’ Oi sez ‘ all right.’ ” 

Mr. Roberts was crushed. 

Mike was getting in a talkative mood, and 
wanted to exonerate himself. 

“ How did Oi know,” he demanded, “ that 
the dirthy ould invelope had fourteen hun- 
dred dollars in it ? Oi’m no moind rader ! 
Phat do ye take me for ; a double jinted, 
copper riveted, brass bound pace av walkin’ 
dictionary ? ” 

“ I took you for a dollar and a half a night 
and a man of common sense,” replied Mr. 
Roberts, faintly. 

“An’ ye wor not cheated,” said Mike, 
loftily. “ Oi draw me pay an’ a long breath 


28 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


iveiy Saturday night, an’ can’t tell which 
does one the most good. Av Oi ” 

“ That’ll do,” interrupted Mr. Roberts. 
“ You may go.” 

And Mike went out, humming something 
like, 

Och, hone ! 

Give him a bone, 

An’ lave him alone.” 

I wandered aimlessly out to my desk, and 
tried to work. The statements of a consign- 
ment were missing. At last I was compelled 
to go to Mr. Roberts. 

“ Have you seen Davis’s consignment ?” 

“No. Were they on the desk?” he asked, 
grimly. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then I suppose Mike has burnt them. 
Write for new ones.” 

A few moments later he called out : 

“ If Jimmerson has gone home and forgot- 
ten his money, how am I going to get it to 
him ? ” 

Here was an opportunity. I almost 
dreaded to ask for a vacation after the morn- 
ing’s calamity. 

“ I can’t send him a check or draft,” he 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


29 


continued, “ for he wouldn’t know what to 
do with it, and can’t write his own name.” 

“ If you have no objections. I’ll take it to 
him,” I returned. 

“ Kailroad, fare both ways would make it 
a rather expensive method of transmitting,” 
said Mr. Roberts, sarcastically. 

“ I would like a- vacation of about a 
month,” I went on eagerly. “ Mr. Jimmer- 
son’s domicile will be one of our stopping 
places, and I can take it to him just as well 
as not.” 

“ Hem,” muttered Mr. Roberts. “ Four- 
teen hundred dollars gone up in smoke, and 
the entire office force struck for a vacation. 
If the Provident Association confiscates my 
business for charitable purposes, I don’t 
suppose I should be surprised.” 

Then he swung hastily around, knocked 
over his ink-stand and broke his pen. I 
waited patiently until the storm blew over, 
and then put in mildly : 

“ I did not take my summer vacation.” 

“ All right,” he returned, “ Boys will be 
boys, I suppose. How long will you be 
gone ? ” 

“ A month.” 


30 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Very well. I’ll get an urchin to watch 
the office and attend to the books myself. 
I’ll give you a check for the draft. Start 
to-night ? ” 

“ To-morrow morning.” 

And so it was settled. 

The telephone acquainted the rest of the 
Quartette with the state of affairs. Treve 
had no trouble in getting off, and Joe could 
do as he pleased. 

I purchased a draft on Jonesboro, and put 
it carefully away. And what a day that 
was. There were suits to be overhauled, 
both rubber and canvas. Owing to Joe 
and Treve’s mischievous propensities. Bob 
and I made a thorough examination of our 
rubber boots to find if any holes had been 
punched through them. To go on a hunt to 
an out of the way region with a poor outfit 
would be worse than staying home. 

Bob, as business manager, had his hands 
full. I was so preoccupied, thinking of the 
loss of the fourteen hundred dollars, that I 
put the shot in my shells before the powder, 
and had the pleasure of taking it out amid 
much chaffing. 

Then the dogs were brought around, to 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


31 


be handy next morning. We took three ; 
my setter Dan, Bob’s pointer Maje and Joe’s 
spaniel Sam. 

A few hurried “ good-byes ” and we were 
off for the train. Tickets purchased and 
trunks checked, we found some amusement 
in listening to the animated discussion be- 
tween the baggageman and Bob, who held 
the three long-eared dogs by their chains, 
each doing their best to go in as many dif- 
ferent directions. 

At last we were off. And nothing to do 
for the rest of the day and night but lounge 
in that Pullman section and play pranks on 
one another. I have a large bump, which 
the phrenologist designates as curiosity, 
and at the first five minutes’ stop I went 
out to interview the trainmen. 

I went for the engineer. He must have 
expected me ; at least he introduced himself 
the moment I walked up to where he was 
oiling the engine. 

“ My name is Jack Sanders.” 

“ Is it ?” said I, calmly. 

“ It is,” said he, fiercely. “ I’ve run on 
this road for seven years off’n on. Been in 
fourteen smashups an’ never was killed ! ” 


32 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

“ Indeed !” 

“ No ; in Missouri. We’re on this sidin’ 
for No. 4. Five minutes late an’ liable to 
be an hour late before we git to the end of 
the division. Is there anything else you 
want to know ? ” 

I thought not. 

“ Then wiggle back, an’ ef any one asks 
you, say you’ve seen me.” 

His quick perception of what I intended 
to ask him nonplussed me. I followed in- 
structions and “wiggled” back, but I did 
not inform any one that I had seen him. 

A little before five o’clock the next morn- 
ing, the porter, as per instructions, shook 
the curtains, and bawled : 

“ Jonesboro ; ten minutes ahead ! ” 

Then pandemonium reigned supreme. 
Treve, with a sudden lurch of the car, fell 
from the upper portion and nearly broke 
his neck. The satchels were reposing 
under the lower end. The porter perspired 
like a street sprinkler getting them out. 
No doubt the other occupants of the car 
wished we were in Halifax, or some other 
obscure place. 

The train had stopped. We surged out 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


33 


on the platform, jnst in time to see our 
trunks delicately tossed out. They landed 
with a force that would have smashed any- 
thing but sole leather. Then three whin- 
ing dogs were pulled out and tied to the 
trunks. 

“ Where’s the manager ?” called Treve. 

“ I’m here,” responded Bob, rubbing his 
head and gazing at the barking dogs, who 
nearly pulled the trunks around in their 
frantic endeavors to reach their masters. 
“ What’ll you have ? ” 

“Breakfast,” said Joe, soberly. 

So we made an invasion on a restaurant, 
took the edge olf our appetites, and, after 
securing food for the dogs, came back to the 
starting point. 

“ You two hold down those trunks and 
see that no one steals the dogs, and Steve 
and I will hunt up a conveyance,” said Bob, 
briskly. 

“ And cash that draft,” I added. 

The others assenting, we started out. 

We had to wait three hours for the bank 
to open. No trouble was experienced, and 
*we started in search of a horse and wagon. 

Inquiry at a livery stable failed to secure 
3 


34 


IN THE SUNK LANDS, 


a horse for a period of thirty days. Indeed 
we were looked upon with suspicion. 

“ A feller could get clean outen the State 
in thirty days,” said the owner. 

We bottled our indignation and went on. 

A pedestrian, to whom we applied, after 
persistently referring to the weather, told 
us : 

“Jim Mills lives jess round the corner. 
He’s got a hoss. Too tarnal lazy to use hit, 
an ’I reckon y’all kin git hit fur a year ef 
y’all want to.” 

We found Mr. Mills lounging on the front 
gate, and made known the object of our 
visit. 

“Yes ; I got a hossy’ kin have,” he 
drawled. “ He’s in the stable. Y’all kin look 
at him. Ef he’ll do we’ll make a dicker.” 

Mr. Mills did not offer to go to the stable 
with us ; but time was precious, so we 
stumbled out alone. 

His “hoss” was a big, neglected looking 
creature. Its ears were frozen off, which gave 
it a wicked look, and you could count every 
bone in its body. The harness was in but 
little better condition ; but the wagon was 
sound and strong, and we decided to take it. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


35 


“ How much for the use of it for about a 
month ?” asked Bob. 

“ Twenty dollars,” replied Mr, Mills 
promptly. 

“He’s joking,” said Bob, looking at me. 
“ How much did you say ? ” 

“ Fifteen.” 

“ How’s a ten ? ” 

“ Take y’ up.” 

“ Here’s a five. That squares us,” 

Mr. Mills pocketed the bill, evidently 
satisfied. We harnessed up, drove to a 
feed store and laid in some provender for 
the animal, and pulled up before our weary 
companions a few minutes later. . 

“ Look at the ten thousand dollarbeauty ! ” 
exclaimed Joe. 

“What’s his gait?” Treve wanted to 
know, 

“ Look a-here, fellows,” said Bob, ear- 
nestly. “ We’vegot twenty-five miles to go 
between now and dark, besides crossins; a 
five mile lake. So stop chaffing, buckle in, 
and let’s get started.” 

The dogs were unchained and allowed 
to run alongside, and off we started. 

But we soon stopped. 


36 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Who knows in which direction lies 
Maumelle Lake ? ” asked Bob. 

Not one of us did, so we applied to a gen- 
tleman leaning against his fence. He eame 
out to the wagon to examine our equipment 
before replying : 

“ Y’all air on the right road. Hit’s nor’- 
east about twenty mile. Goin’ huntin’ ? ” 

We replied in the affirmative, thanked 
him and drove on before he could ascertain 
our age and the place in which we were 
born. More inquisitive people I have yet 
to meet. 

The air was raw and chilly, with a heavy 
fog lifting as the sun came out. It was 
weather we did not expect to find, and it 
was not long before a halt was ealled, to 
enable us to extract our heavy duck coats 
from the trunks. 

“ Hold on, my boy,” cried Treve, patron- 
izingly, as Bob was about to start up, 
“ Wait till I get out my gun, I always eat 
my dinner, even when traveling, and a 
quail or chicken will come in handy.” 

“ Well, look at those dogs ! ” cried Joe, 
admiringly. 

Two of them were standing with fore paw 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


37 


uplifted and backs as straight as a plumb 
line from the tip of their nose to their tails. 
The third — Joe’s spaniel, Sam — was sitting 
on his haunches regarding them with curi- 
osity. 

“ It’s a quail or a prairie chicken ! ” 
ejaculated Treve. 

Then he got carefully out of the wagon, 
the dogs trembling with excitement. 

Four quail got up with a hum. Twenty 
feet was as far as two got, the quick reports 
of the double barrel stopping their earthly 
career. That was but a starter. Long 
before noon enough quail and chickens re- 
posed in the bottom of the wagon to satisfy 
double our number. 

Away in the east a hazy cloud, lifting 
above the trees, told of the proximity to 
the marshy sunk lands. 

Our quadruped being without a name, we 
contributed one. He answered to Loafer 
both by disposition and hearing. And 
that was about all he would do. To get 
him out of a walk was out of the question. 
Noon found us about twelve miles from the 
starting point, and camped by the side of a 
cane brake. 


38 


THE SUNK LANDS. 


Loafer munched his hay and oats and 
seemed contented. Fried quail and prairie 
chicken formed the main feature of our 
repast, washed down with water from a 
small spring that seemed to rise from no- 
where and flowed to the same place. 

During the afternoon Loafer plodded 
along, the road becoming wilder and little 
more than a trampled path — just wide 
enough for the wagon — winding around 
trees and stumps in a dense wood. Squir- 
rels barked as they skipped about the trees, 
and some of them went into the wagon. 

The sun had set and it was growing 
darker every moment when we pulled up 
on the bank of Maumelle Lake. Nothing 
to be heard but the sounds of the forest 
behind, and the solemn croak of the frogs 
on the edge of the water. A flsh hawk 
sailing along over the willows, that covered 
the lake, except where the currents made 
lanes. The willows were about fourteen 
feet high. Nothing could be seen but their 
yellow, waving tops, and the faint marks 
of a boat landing a little below us. 

Perhaps the boatman lived within hailing 
distance. We shouted singly and together. 
It was useless. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


39 


“ Well, this is a pretty note,” said Treve, 
petulantly, 

‘ ‘ Isn’t that some one moving in the bushes 
to the right ? ” I asked. 

The next moment came a hail : 

“ Hallo thar!” 

“ Hallo ! ” we returned, not to be outdone 
in courtesy, 

“ Be you-uns them city chaps as come 
upyere in a waggin ? ” asked the same voice. 

We replied in the affirmative. 

The figure came slowly on until it reached 
Loafer’s head. It carried a gun under its 
arm. 

There came two sharp clicks as the fel- 
low cocked both barrels, and then : 

“ Dump that gun out ! ” 

He evidently meant what he said. There 
was no disobeying orders when looking down 
the barrels of that gun. Treve promptly 
tossed his weapon over. 

“ That’s right. Now, shell out y ’all’s 
watches, money an’ jewelry, I’ve got the 
drap on you, my friends, an’ mean what I 
say. See that y’all air quick about hit, too, 
fur I’ve got two charges o’ buckshot in this 
yere gun as will clean y’all outen that wag- 
gin at the first ’spicious move !” 


40 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TABLES TUBNED, 

My heart seemed to rise into my throat 
and choke me, then sank to the region of 
my heels. And the fourteen hundred dol- 
lars in my inside pocket ! I thought I would 
wilt, 

“ Kim, hurry up,” said the highwayman, 
as we began to gather our small change. 
“ Don’t think I don’t know how much y’all 
got. Didn’t foller you-uns all the way from 
Jonesboro fur nothin.” That feller on the 
front seat better hand out that pile o’money , 
stead o’ fishin’ fur his nickels an’ dimes !” 

I suppose I jumped about six inches at 
that. 

“ Come and get it,” said Bob, 

“Not much I don’t ! ” he exclaimed with 
a coarse laugh, “ Y’all kin dump it out on 
the ground, I’ve been in this yere business 
afore, my friend, an’ don’t let no feller git 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 41 

me off my guard. Has that poeket-book 
hit the ground yit ? ” 

It hadn’t, but it did the next second. I 
did not propose to stop a charge of buckshot 
for being backward, when I would probably 
lose it in the end. 

“ It might injure these watches to be 
thrown on the ground,” pleaded Treve, 

“ Ef they’re valuable I’ll run the risk.” 

“ Blit they ain’t.” 

“ Then I guess hit ain’t any great loss. 
Toss ’em out ! ” 

How galling it was to sit there and be 
told what to do with our own property ! 
And the only barrier against insubordina- 
tion was the fear that we would have to 
stop the contents of that gun. 

The dogs were inclined to interfere ; but 
we ordered them under the wagon to pre- 
vent them from getting shot. 

“ Has that fellow on the last seat sent his 
watch out yit ? My finger’s on the trig- 
ger ! ” 

Joe’s watch followed immediately. 

“ Quite a little haul,” said the gentleman 
who commanded the situation, stepping to 
the side of the wagon and picking up the 


42 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

pocket-book, still keeping his gun pointed 
at us. 

Joe nudged me in the back. 

“ Keep still about the money in the 
trunk,” he whispered hoarsely, just loud 
enough for the gentleman with the gun to 
hear. 

There was no money there, I knew, but 
the ruse was successful. 

“ Got some more, have y’ ? ” he said, with 
a broad grin. “Well, yank out your trunk 
an’ haul hit out. Don’t be long about hit, 
either ! ” 

Of course Joe was reluctant, and needed 
considerable urging. 

He unlocked the top trunk. It did not 
make much difference which trunk he went 
into ; they were packed about the same. 
If the stranger could have seen the gleam 
in Joe’s eye he would have stopped him. 

“Hurry up,” he called. “I hain’t got 
much more time. Yank it out ! ” 

And Joe did yank it out. It was not 
money. It was a Winchester, and it went 
up to his shoulder like a flash. He had ex- 
perienced some trouble in getting the car- 
tridges and shoving a couple in. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 43 

If the stranger had been in that “ busi- 
ness afore,” he had certainly made a mis- 
take this time. His gun was pointed a little 
below us, and he dared not raise it with 
that black tube staring him in the face. 

“ Don’t raise your gun,” was Joe’s first 
command, “We were never in this busi- 
ness before, but no doubt you recognize the 
fact that I have got the drop on you.” 

“ Well ? ” he snarled. 

“ Yes ; pretty well for us,” Joe acquiesced. 
“ Steve, will you jump down and relieve 
him of that pocket-book and gun ? Don’t 
you try to stop him, mister, or you will 
get a 45 through your head, and never be 
of any good afterwards ! ” 

It was not a commission I liked ; but, 
being called upon, I did not stop to think 
about any danger. 

I clambered down, and, stepping across 
the six feet of intervening ground, prepared 
to carry out instructions. 

“Which pocket did he put it in?” I 
asked, thinking more of getting possession 
of the money than his gun. 

“ Find out! ” he snapped out. 

“ Short and sweet,” laughed Bob. 


44 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ So are you,” growled the man. Then, 
as I shoved my hand in his coat pocket he 
wheeled, planted his fist with stinging force 
in my face, and darted back through the 
brush before those in the wagon had become 
fully aware of what had happened, 

I saw stars and brilliant flashes of light. 
They were forked and otherwise, and all 
highly entertaining. 

I staggered to my feet just in time to see 
two flashes of light that were not imaginary, 
and a perfect hail of buckshot flew around 
us. Half a dozen pierced the wagon bed, 
one scraped Loafer’s rump, making him 
prance in a way we thought him incapable 
of, but none struck the quartette. 

Hardly had the flashes disappeared when 
the Winchester sang out twice, the last 
shot bringing a howl of pain, 

“ Don’t go into the brush,” Joe cried 
quickly, as Bob and Treve jumped down. 
“ It may be only a ruse. If that’s a breech- 
loader you’d be in a pretty fix.” 

And then he dived hastily into the trunk 
for more cartridges. 

Although I rejoiced heartily with the rest 
in the fact that the fellow had not secured 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


45 


our watches and small change, I felt keenly 
the loss of the package of money. 

“ We can’t do anything more to-night,” 
said Bob, decidedly. “ I move that we go a 
little farther down and camp out.” 

This motion was carried unanimously. 

Loafer was led to an open space and un- 
hitched. The trunks were unpacked of what 
articles we needed, such as blankets, coats, 
guns, and frying-pan, and then placed in a 
circle to form a shelter in case of an attack. 
A fire was built. Loafer fed, and Joe and I 
were cleaning the squirrels when Bob said 
suddenly : 

“ I wonder if there is any danger of 
our friend paying us a visit while we are 
asleep ? ” 

“ I guess not, if he was hit as hard as his 
yell indicated,” replied Joe. 

“ I propose that we take a look at the 
place where he was hit. For all we know 
he may be dead, or lying there unconscious, 
and the money ” 

“ Got a lantern ? ” asked Treve. 

“ No ; but a few brands out of this fire 
will do just as well. If he wasn’t hit at all, 
and his yell was only a ruse, we’ll have to 


46 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


stand watch to-night. It may be better to 
do it any way,” 

Then he selected three of the blazing 
pieces of pine, and gathered several more 
to be used when the others went out, saying : 

“ If he’s lying over there waiting for just 
such a party to hunt him out, he’ll have the 
finest kind of a mark with these bonfires to 
light us up.” 

“ In view of which case,” said Joe, “ we’ll 
take our rifies along, if only to convince him 
that we know how to use them.” 

“ We’ll buckle on our cartridge belts,” I 
put in. “ Of course we don’t expect to 
make a siege of it ; but it’s better to have 
them along.” 

“Well, if we are going to have a parade, 
I suppose we had better take the hunting 
knives,” added Joe, 

“ Keep on, and we’ll have to carry the 
trunks,” laughed Bob. 

Then he valiantly led the way with the 
dogs, Joe and Treve following, and I bring- 
ing up the rear. The blazing torch threw 
a lurid glare on the surroundings, and made 
the forest beyond the limit of light seem 
more black. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


47 


“ Sure you’re going in the right direc- 
tion ? ” asked Joe, as Bob plunged fearlessly 
through a tangle of vines and creepers. 

“It ought to be right ahead,” was the 
reply. “ Isn’t that the tree ? ” 

We halted around a large, shellbark 
hickory. A faint parting in the shrubbery 
leading toward the lake told where the 
stranger had plunged through. 

“ I don’t see any blood,” said Bob, after 
a careful examination of the leaves and grass 
on the ground. 

“ But here is where he stood,” exclaimed 
Treve, pointing to two large footprints in 
the damp soil at the foot of the tree. “ And 
here is where one of the bullets struck,” 
laying his finger on a place where the bark 
had been plowed off in a deep ridge. “ I 
bet you didn’t miss him very far. I’ve got 
my opinion of a man who hollers before he 
is hit.” 

“ Now that we know he wasn’t wounded, 
we can look out for him,” said Bob sol- 
emnly. 

“ And we’ve left camp without leaving 
any one to guard it ! ” broke in Treve ex- 


48 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


citedly, “ He can carry off half we’ve got 
while we’re up here looking for him,” 

“ Good gracious ! Why didn’t we think 
of that before ! ” I cried. 

“ Wait till I get this pine knot lit,” and 
Bob’s lingers were all thumbs. “ We’ll 
break our necks falling over logs.” 

The dogs commenced to whine and bristle 
their backs ; but we paid no attention and 
started back, proceeding as before. 

Hardly had we taken a dozen steps, when 
there was an unearthly yell from above, 
and a heavy body struck me between the 
shoulders, knocking me upon those in front, 
and down we all went ingloriously. 

The torch was sent flying. There was a 
snarling, biting growl from above, and the 
terrible claws of some beast sank into my 
shoulder, burning like red hot irons. 

We were in total darkness. I could feel 
the saliva from the thing’s jaws dripping 
on my neck as I wrenched my arm free, 
and, turning on my side, gripped the thick 
hide of its neck. Even as I did so, I realized 
that I was in the clutches of a wild cat or 
panther. 

Then the dogs jumped on. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


49 


My hunting-knife was under me, as was 
also Treve. To one side I caught sight of 
Joe and Bob staggering to their feet ; but I 
knew they dared not shoot for fear of hit- 
ting us in the dark. 

I got hold of the handle of my hunting- 
knife and plunged it into the snarling body 
above me, where it stuck. Something warm 
trickled down, and the claws sank deeper. 

Just then the torch, which had been 
smoldering where it fell, ignited some dead 
leaves, and a tiny flame shot up, gradually 
growing brighter. 

By its feeble light I saw Joe lift his rifle 
to his shoulder ; then came the report. 

For one brief second I thought he had 
missed ; then the claws relaxed and the body 
rolled off. 

I staggered to my feet. By the light of 
the rapidly spreading Are I saw the tawny 
body of a panther stretched out beside Treve, 
who was not yet certain that it was time to 
get up. 

“ Put out the Are before it gets beyond 
control,” cried Joe. “ Are you hurt, 
Steve ? ” 


4 


50 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Not very much,” I responded ; ‘‘ but 
my coat’s torn to pieces.” 

“ We’ll leave his body where it lies and 
skin it in the morning. I’ll feel a great 
deal better when I get back to camp. Our 
selfish friend may get there before we do.” 

We tramped out the fire, and plunged 
through the brush to the open space on the 
bank of the lake, where walking was easy. 

“ I don’t see the camp fire,” whispered 
Bob. “ I’m sure I left enough wood on it 
to burn an hour.” 

The dogs began to growl. 

“ Halt there ! ” came the hoarse com- 
mand from ahead in a tone we instantly 
recognized. 

We strained our eyes and managed to 
discern the faint outlines of the wagon and 
Loafer. 

“ I’m a-runnin’ this yere camp an’ outfit,” 
went on the hoarse voice. “ You-uns bet- 
ter find another place to sleep. I put a 
couple loads o’ buckshot into you-uns awhile 
back, an’ I kin do hit ag’in ef you-uns try 
any shenanagan games ! ” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


51 


CHAPTER V. 

OUTWITTED. 

“ Well, this is a pretty go,” whispered 
Treve, as he backed rather precipitately, 
after learning that the stranger had taken 
possession of our camp and intended to 
hold it. 

“ This is a little too much,” cried Joe 
angrily. “ I’ve half a notion to walk down 
on him, and if he tries to shoot fill him so full 
of holes that a good wind would blow him 
off!” 

“ And the other half notion,” said Treve, 
tantalizingly, “ which is a great deal 
stronger, says you won’t, do anything of the 
kind.” 

“ We’ll get behind trees and open com- 
munication with the gentleman,” said Bob. 
“ We’ve got him just where we want him, 
and if we act right we’ll get that money 


62 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


back. You fellows seem to have forgotten 
all about that. If we can’t persuade him 
to look at it as we do, we’ll put a few bul- 
lets as close to him as we can without 
hitting him.” 

“ And find in the morning that they’ve 
lodged in Loafer,” put in the irrepressible 
Treve. 

“ If you can’t shoot better than that you 
better keep out,” replied Bob. 

Bob’s suggestion was acted upon. We 
thrashed around through the underbrush, 
locating our trees, until the besieged thought 
it about time ‘to interfere. 

“ You-uns out there think you’re blamed 
smart, don’t you ? ” he called savagely, 
“ Ef I hear any more furse I’ll open up 
both bar’ls an’ let y’ll dodge buckshot! 
Y’hear me ? ” 

“ Look a-here,” shouted Bob. “ The 
best thing you can do, my friend, is to give 
up. We’ve got you surrounded, and you’re 
in a pretty tight place. Hand over that 
money and your ammunition, and we’ll let 
you go.” 

This seemed to throw him in a paroxysm 
of rage. We could hear him uttering im- 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


S3 


precations loud and deep. Possession did 
not seem to be the best position, and yet 
we thought he had the best of us a few 
moments before. 

I made my way carefully along to the 
next tree, where Bob was stationed, care- 
fully keeping as many bushes between me 
and the camp as possible, for our enemy 
had sharp eyes. 

“ What do you suppose he took such a 
position for, to be caught like this ? ” I 
asked. 

“ He didn’t expect to be caught,” replied 
Bob, grimly. “ He was probably lying in 
the bushes watching us. When we came 
off so foolishly together, he slipped in to 
carry off the guns, got interested in over- 
hauling the traps and we surprised him.” 

“ But he had plenty of time to get away,” 
I protested. 

“ I don’t know about that. Didn’t the dogs 
scent him first ? ” demanded Bob. “ He’s 
no doubt formed a different opinion of us 
since he held us up and Joe shot at him. 
Possibly he thought we’d hunt him down 
with the dogs — we’re four to one, you know 
— and a stand behind those trunks is as 


54 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


good as he’ll find, and no exertion. Then 
again, he was on the ground and could 
see us, and thought we could see him, and 
to move would be rather dangerous.” 

“ It’ll be dreadful hard standing guard all 
night,” I whispered. 

“ And there is no moon. He could al- 
most crawl between us and we wouldn’t 
know it. Keep your eyes and ears open, 
and if you see anything moving- put a bul- 
let over it, and if it keeps on put the next 
one into it. There is no use in letting him 
get away, and a bullet will have to cut his 
clothes before he’ll stop, if he thinks we’re 
chicken-hearted . ’ ’ 

Bob was getting as heartless as Ike Jim- 
merson. 

During the conversation, the gentleman 
ensconced behind the trunks reviewed his 
vocabulary of imprecations, and finally 
ended by shouting ; 

“ Ef y’all wait out there till I s’render 
y’all be so old your teeth’ll drap out. I got 
friends, I have, an’ hit won’t take long to 
call ’em up yere, neither. You-uns better 
haul off while you kin.” 

“ That won’t wash,” called Treve. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


55 


“ Won’t hit ! ” yelled the besieged. 
“ Mebby this will.” 

There was a flash and a rattle of the shot 
among the leaves and bushes as he flred in 
the direction of Treve’s voice. One of the 
dogs whined a little, as though it had been 
scratched, then silence reigned, broken by 
Bob’s asking softly if Treve was hit. 

“ No,” replied my plucky brother. “He’ll 
have to shoot through a three foot pecan 
before he hits me.” 

Joe flred twice, taking care to shoot high. 

The other laughed derisively and called 
out : 

“ You’re wastin’ powder, pardner. Y’all’ll 
have to shoot through two loaded trunks 
afore y’ll kin hit me, an I reckon there 
hain’t a shootin’ iron among y’all as kin do 
that.” 

Both parties subsided. It was too dark 
to see anything but the faint outlines of 
objects outlined against the sky, while any- 
thing close to the ground was invisible. By 
lying down I could see the top part of the 
wagon. 

Occasionally we would call to one another, 
which never failed to bring a response from 


56 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

the wagon. It let both sides know that the 
other was there and vigilant. 

That was the longest night I ever put in. 
Just before the gray dawn of morning, our 
friend failed to respond when anything was 
said ; but we concluded that lie had realized 
what a precarious position his would be in 
daylight, and was trying to draw us out for 
a shot. So we remained very quiet. 

With the gradually increasing light I 
thought I detected something moving along 
the bank. Remembering instructions I put 
the first bullet over it and it stopped. 

“ What are you shooting at ? ” called 
Bob, softly. 

Before I could reply a voice, coming seem- 
ingly from the wagon, answered : 

“ He’s practicin’ on a ground hog out 
there on the bank. Save your shot, sonny ; 
he hain’t no good.” 

“Where is it?” Bob asked, a moment 
later, coming up softly behind me. 

I half turned as he touched my shoulder. 
When I turned to point it out to him it was 
gone. 

“ Never mind,” he said. “ Maybe it was 
a ground hog. We’ll have our man by the 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


57 


hip when it gets a little lighter. I’ve talked 
with Joe and Treve, and unless you have a 
better plan we’ve decided to do this : you, 
Treve and I will rivet his attention in this 
direction, and Joe is going to try to creep 
around to the other side. Then we’ll have 
him between two fires, and if we can’t make 
him come to time we better go back home. 
Do you know of anything bettei- ? ” 

“No,” I replied promptly. 

“ Then it’s settled. Joe is going to start 
right away, so as to have the advantage of 
the poor light. Say — look quick — ain’t that 
his hat ? ” 

‘ ‘ That’s what it is ! He’s holding it pretty 
steady, too.” 

A hat was plainly discernible, projecting 
a few inches above one of the trunks. 

“ Maybe he is aiming at Joe and Treve,” 
whispered Bob anxiously. “I better get 
back.” 

He disappeared quickly in the under- 
growth. 

The hat remained exactly as before. — I 
failed to detect even a tremor. 

Joe started on his rather dangerous mis- 
sion, We walked back and forth, made 


58 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


detours to one side, in the opposite direc- 
tion to which Joe had gone, and did every- 
thing we could think of to attract his atten- 
tion. The result was most satisfactory. 
The hat never changed its position. 

He had arranged the trunks in the form 
of a crescent, with the opening towards the 
lake. 

The most dangerous part of Joe’s journey, 
was the crossing of the open space between 
the woods and the water. To do this he 
was obliged to lie flat on his face, and wig- 
gle along like a snake. We almost held our 
breaths until the feat was accomplished, and 
he disappeared over the bank, which was 
about four feet high. 

Now that he was out of our sight our anx- 
iety increased and I suppose our antics were 
ludicrous. 

Then Joe’s head bobbed up above the 
bank behind the breastworks. 

He arose slowly to his feet. My heart 
almost stopped beating when I saw him 
stride toward the camp without even carry- 
ing his rifle at a “ready.” 

He stopped, looked in, and motioned for 
us to come on. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


59 


With a whoop, and the dogs leading 
grandly, we charged. 

But where was our enemy ? 

The charred remains of the fire he had 
put out, and the fragments of bones lying 
around told that he had enjoyed our supper. 
But what we saw first, and felt most like 
kicking ourselves over, was a stick leaning 
against the foremost trunk, on the top of 
which reposed a dilapidated felt hat ! 


60 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


-CHAPTER VI. 

THE HIGHWAYMAN AGAIN. 

“Sold!” we cried in one voice, as we 
took in the deserted camp and the decoy. 

“ Andpretty cheap, too,” was Joe’s highly 
disgusted addition. 

“We better climb down and soak our 
heads in the lake,” advised Bob. 

“ But it is not so bad,” I objected. “ Of 
course it seems foolish to have let him get 
away when we had him cornered so nicely ; 
but when you take into consideration how 
dark it was last night, you have a pretty 
good excuse.” 

“ I am going to take that hat,” said Joe, 
grimly, “ and I bet that when I find the 
owner there is going to be ground torn up ! ” 

“ Well, you won’t find him around here,” 
replied Treve, decidedly. “ With fourteen 
hundred dollars in his pocket, I am surprised 



THAT S RIGHT. NOW SHELL OUT Y’ ALLS’ WATCH!..;, :\Lc>NEY AN’ JEWELRY 








•m; 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 61 

that he should have even tried to steal more 
from us. I don’t doubt but that it was he 
Steve fired at on the bank, and with the 
start he’s got there’s two or three miles 
between us by this time,” 

“ Then I am to chalk the fourteen hun- 
dred up to profit and loss, am I?” I asked. 

“ And Jimmerson must certainly need the 
money,” added Bob, dejectedly, “ This is 
the second time it’s been lost,” 

“ What are we going to do ? ” demanded 
Joe. “ Shall we go back to Jonesboro and 
draw on Roberts for the amount, or shall 
we go on to Jimmerson’s and get him to 
help us ? ” 

“ Roberts w'ould have an epileptic fit if I 
drew on him,” said I, solemnly. 

“ If he was going north when he heard of 
it he woiild turn inside out and be traveling 
south !” added Bob, gravely. 

“ Then on to Jimmerson’s ! ” was the 
decision. 

After a breakfast on squirrels, Joe sug- 
gested : 

“If Steve will swim across and get the 
boatman, who I feel sure is over there, we 
can proceed.” 


62 IN the sunk lands. 

“ No, thanks,” I returned, sincerely. “ I 
never bathe in November, especially when 
there is a wind blowing from the north that 
is growing colder every moment.” 

“Form a line, shoot off both barrels in 
succession, and shout for all you’re worth. 
If that don’t bring some one from the other 
side — if there’s any one over there — I’ll 
swim across myself,” said Bob. 

The roar that followed would have done 
justice to a Gatling gun, while our yells 
would have made a Sioux bilious with envy. 

“ There ! ” said Bob, as we panted from 
our exertions. 

“ That ought to be enough to raise the 
dead.” 

We listened a few moments, then the 
sonorous notes of a cow horn floated across 
the water. 

“ There ought to be some printed instruc- 
tions tacked on the trees if this is a boat 
landing,” said Joe. “ How do we know 
but what that is some fellOw calling in his 
hounds ? ” 

“ I’ll risk it,” replied Bob, as a few short 
toots came from a point considerably nearer. 

Half an hour later, after much blowing 


IN TEN SUNK LANDS. 


63 


of a horn, a flat boat grounded at the edge 
of the lane where we had stopped the night 
before and had been held up. 

In the stern, with a pole in his hand, 
stood the owner. He was also owner of an 
old smooth bore rifle that lay conveniently 
at his elbow, a cow horn and two lean, 
miserable looking hounds, who bristled 
their backs and challenged our dogs to 
light. 

He had a shock of coarse, red hair that 
fringed the edge of his worn coon -skin cap, 
and a mustache of the same hue with long, 
drooping ends. A pair of overalls that had 
once been blue, held up by a single suspen- 
der, and a dirty calico shirt, were the 
extent of his wearing apparel. 

“ Wan ter go across ? ” he shouted. 

“ Yes,” replied Bob. “ What do you 
charge ? ” 

“ My name’s Sol Dunlap,” said the boat- 
man, seemingly oblivious to Bob’s question. 
“ What mebby y’alls ? ” 

Has that got anything to do with taking 
us across ? ” demanded Joe. 

Mr. Dunlap was surprised. 

“Sho!” he exclaimed. “ Y’all air 


64 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


moighty peart, hain’t ye ? Them air ’bout 
as scrumptious lookin’ dorgs as ever I seed ! 
Where mought you-uns stay when you air 
to home ? Goin’ very fur ? I ’low y’all air 
goiu over to Simpson’s, as lives on Blue 
Creek ? ” 

“ No. We would like 

“ No ? Well, I d’know ; thought mebby 
y’all WHS. Them air Simpsons air 
moughty mean lot. Put on heaps o’ airs 
over us common folk. Scaly set. Drapped 
down on us one night ; dunno where they 
kim from. Seems to have plenty to yeat, 
but don’t do a lick o’ work. It do make 
mo scandlous mad to think o’ them loafin’ 
around over there an’ me a-havin’ to work 
this consarned old scow ! ” 

Here he savagely jammed the pole down 
in the mud to keep the boat from sliding 
off the bank. 

His miserable hounds, interpreting this 
as an aggressive action, flew toward the 
bank, intending to make short work of us 
and our dogs. 

“ You — Tige — Boose ! ” he yelled. “Kim 
back yere ! ” 

The hounds dropped their ears and tails 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


65 


and slunk back on the boat, dexterously 
avoiding a heavy kick he aimed at them. 

“ Them air dogs hain’t got no manners 
’tall,” said Mr. Dunlap, apologetically, as 
he stepped off the boat. “ You-uns have 
got a whoppin’ big load,” pointing to the 
four trunks on the wagon that we had 
repacked, leaving out the heavy guns and 
rifles. “ Now that’s about as purty a 
weepon as ever I seed,” and he picked up 
Joe’s that leaned against the wheel. 
“ Y’all won’t mind if I try hit ? ” 

We realized by this time that it was 
useless to say anything about crossing the 
lake until Mr. Dunlap had satisfied himself 
concerning our business, and Joe nodded 
negatively. 

Two crows flying over the willows formed 
the mark. With the crack of the rifle the 
last one suspended his exertions, poised 
nerveless, and then dropped lifeless, turn- 
ing over and over, out of sight. 

Mr. Dunlap was loud in his praise of the 
weapon, while we were no less so with the 
marksman. We formed a new opinion of 
Mr. Dunlap. 

“ It was a gilt edge shot and no joking,” 


66 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Treve said afterward, and we agreed with 
him. 

The mournful howl of a dog interrupted 
. the conversation. 

Sitting on the bank with his nose elevated 
in the air, was one of Mr. Dunlap’s hounds. 
It was the largest and best looking, and 
answered to the name of Boose. 

“ Well, I swan ! ” exclaimed Mr. Dunlap, 
“ There’s been a critter prowlin’ around 
yere as didn’t have no business yere, an’ 
hit wuz a two-legged critter, too ! ” 

The quartette exchanged glances. 

“ You-uns been pestered by anybody ? ” 
continued Mr. Dunlap. 

“ Why ? ” asked Joe, evasively. 

“ Cause Boose allers does that when he 
runs ’cross the trail o’ a feller as is tryin’ 
to sneak out o’ sight. Don’t know how he 
tells ; but Boose air a mighty smart hound, 
Hain’t any around this yere lake as kin 
kim up to him. I reckon hit wuz a Simp- 
son. Simpson’s the only mean man I 
know, I’d like to git a clinch on Simpson 
once ! ” 

“Perhaps Boose could find him!” I 
exclaimed. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


67 


“ Couldn’t track him no furder than 
where he got in his dugout. Simpson lives 
on t’other side of the lake,” observed Mr. 
Dunlap. 

“ But this fellow says he followed us 
from Jonesboro,” broke in Treve. 

“ Which feller ? ” demanded Mr. Dunlap 
quickly. 

We explained. He listened to the story 
of our night’s adventure, and then said : 

“ I ’low hit wuz Simpson. Mebby he 
wuz down to Jonesboro. He’d have to 
kim ’cross the lake, an’ he jess hid his 
dugout sommers ’long yere, so he’d have 
hit to go back in. I thought I heered 
shootin’ over yere last night, but the old 
woman ’lowed I was looney.” 

“ How many of the Simpsons are there ? ” 
Bob asked. 

Mr. Dunlap admitted there were but two ! 
father and daughter. 

“ The sooner we get to Ike Jimmerson’s 
place the better,” said Bob briskly. “ I 
don’t believe we had better tackle the 
gentleman alone again, after letting him 
slip away as we did last night, and we’ll 
get Ike to go along. Now, Mr. Dunlap, 


68 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


well get our wagon and horse on board.” 

We managed to do this after half an 
hour’s desperate struggle, for Loafer abso- 
lutely refused to step on the boat, so we 
obligingly dragged him on. 

“ Do you know Ike Jimmerson ? ” asked 
Joe, as Mr. Dunlap commenced to pole the 
boat away from the shore. 

“Well, I should articulate ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Dunlap. “ Known him for ten year. 
He lives about four miles from t’other side. 

“ There’s a road over there that’ll take 
you-uns right to his place.” 

“ And where is Blue Creek ? ” 

“ That’s about four miles, too, only hit’s 
furder down. It’s sommers nigh two miles 
from Jimmerson’s.” 

We were moving slowly along what 
might be termed “ streets” through the 
willows. Similar openings appeared on both 
sides until it seemed little short of instinct 
that told Mr. Dunlap which direction to go. 
And he had informed us that the lake was 
about two miles wide at that place. 

“ This would be a great place to get lost,” 
observed Bob. 

“Yes, an’ fellers that goes out in yere 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


69 


’tliout taking some one along as knows the 
kentiy ginerally gits lost, too. Durin’ the 
war some fellows furder south sent a lot o’ 
niggers up yere to keep ’em from jinin the 
army. I’ll be durned ef the hull blamed 
lot didn’ git lost, an’ hit wuz three weeks 
afore they found ’em.” 

A little later we grounded on the other 
side. The wagon and Loafer was run off 
and Loafer hitched up. Mr. Dunlap received 
his modest sum of three dollars for ferry- 
ing us over. 

Just as we were about to start, I became 
possessed of a remarkable resolution, and, 
turning to Mr. Dunlap, asked : 

“ What will you take for Boose ? ” 

The latter was so thrown out by the sud- 
denness of the question that it was some 
time before he could reply. Then he said 
in consideration of our not being “ namby 
pamby ” boys, as was his first impression, 
he would make us a present of him. 

So we thanked him and drove on. Boose 
transferred his affections from Mr. Dunlap 
to ourselves with the latter’s kick and “ git 
out o’ yere,” and led the other dogs ahead 
of us down the little -used road. 


70 


IN THE SUNK ZANES. 


This ran through heavy timber. Large 
trees stood so close together that two rods 
away was the limit of vision. The road 
grew more swampy, and we were con- 
tinually crossing small streams, while the 
ground became soft and yielding. Swamps 
appeared on all sides. 

Occasionally we would come out on the 
edge of some dark, silent lagoon, where gi- 
gantic sycamores stood up white and clear 
out of the dark water like sentinels. 

It was late in the afternoon when we drew 
up before the largest building in a settle- 
ment of five houses. It was a store, with a, 
large front porch, on which were piled large 
stacks of pelts, and around which were 
grouped several men, among them Ike Jiiu- 
merson. 

He came out to the wagon with a cordial 
“ howdy ! ” and outstretched hand. He was 
immediately introduced to the two members 
of the X. T. C. Quartette whom he had not 
met, while the men on the porch snorted 
disdainfully at such a proceeding. 

While the others were unhitching Loafer 
and unloading the trunks, Jimmerson drew 
me to one side and asked : 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 71 

“ Did you bring that money ? You know 
I went up town an’ bought some things an’ 
my ticket, an’ I done clean furgot all about 
stoppin’ at your place. Never thought o’ 
hit till the keers had me ten miles in the 
kentry, an’ ’twas too late then. I thought 
the old man would fix up some way o’ send- 
in’ hit.” 

I told Mr. Jimmerson our story, ending 
with : 

“'The money counted out for you was 
burnt. I bought a draft on Jonesboro, 
cashed it, and a gentleman supposed to be 
one Simpson, held us up on the other side 
of Maumelle Lake and robbed us.” 

“ Simpson — robbed you-uns ! ” gasped 
Mr. Jimmerson. “Well, I’ll be dodswog- 
gled ef that hain’t ” 

On the opposite side of the clearing a man 
stepped out. He was covered with mud 
from head to foot, bareheaded, and carried 
a heavy double-barrel under his arm. His 
face wore a satisfied smile that changed to 
one of terror as his eyes rested on Loafer 
and the trunks. 

“ There he is ! there he is !” I shouted. 
“ That’s him ! Head him off, somebody ! ” 


72 


IJV THE SUNK LANDS. 


The man gave one wild look and sprang 
back into the woods, while every one looked 
at me as though they thought I had gone 
crazy and wondered what I was yelling 
about. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


73 


CHAPTER VII. 

CAPTUBED, 

I GESTICULATED wildly Bs I danccd around, 
trying to call the dogs, who lay panting 
under the wagon, and at the same time in- 
form the amazed spectators that I had seen 
the man who had robbed us appear and dis- 
appear in the timber. 

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” asked 
Bob in surprise. 

“Somethin’ bit ye?” questioned Mr. 
Jimmerson, anxiously examining the ground 
in search of the cause of my strange be- 
havior. 

“ It’s him ! ” I panted. “ He came right 
out of the woods over there, and when he 
saw the wagon and trunks took leg bail for 
security.” 

The men on the porch came up to the 
wagon. They were a rough-looking set. 


74 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


and each carried a rifle or gun as his taste 
dictated, 

“ What’s the furse ? ” demanded the fore- 
most, a short, heavy set man, with black 
eyes and unkempt hair. He wore a suit 
that was half cloth and half buckskin, and 
three thirds dirt, and seemed an important 
personage, 

“ Hanged ef I know,” growled a second. 
“ I didn’t see nothin’.” 

“ Me, neither,” affirmed a third, who, 
from his looks, I judged to be half Indian 
and half rascal. He was tall and straight, 
with a sallow, greasy countenance, and the 
rifle he leaned on was a long, old-fashioned 
affair. 

“ Now, who wuz hit ? ” demanded Mr. 
Jimmerson, holding me against one of the 
supports of the porch until he should be 
answered. 

“ Why, the man who held us up on the 
other side of Maumelle Lake, and has got 
your fourteen hundred in his pocket ! ” 

“ Jehosaphat ! Why didn’t you say so 
afore 5^011 spoke ? Scatter out, men ; we 
got to ketch him ! ” 

But the men never moved, - 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 75 

“I don’t ketch no man till I know what I 
ketch him fur ! ” said the half-breed insin- 
uatingly. 

Mr. Jimmerson stopped. 

“ Take your time, boys,” he said slowly, 
turning to us. “ I forgot I wuz talkin’ to 
the pizenest, laziest crowd in these yere 
parts. Our man has got a good distance by 
this time, ef he goes as fast as I think he 
will ; but we kin find him in an hour from 
now jess as easy as we kin now. As fur 
these fellers, ef they don’t do what I 
want ’em to, they kin pack their pelts 
over to the Pine Bottom agency.” 

“ I didn’t say I wouldn’t go, did I ? ” 
whined the short man, who seemed appalled 
at the threat implied. 

“ Nur me, neither,” chorused the rest, 
with the exception of the half-breed. The 
latter drew himself up like a pampered 
tragedian, and said loftily : 

“ I kin pack my pelts over there, even 
ef hit’s twenty mile.” 

“O’ course Miggy kin,” laughed the short 
man, derisively. “ He hardly ever has any 
to tote. He’s too tarnal lazy to skin a 
mink.” 


76 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


“No lazier’n you air, Bill Morris!” re- 
torted Miguel. 

“ Leave hit to the crowd,” said Mr. Morris, 
carelessly. “Now, sonny, ef you’ll pint 
out the place you seen him, we’ll hunt him 
up.” 

Miguel darted an angry glance at him 
and walked to my side. 

“ Hold on ! ” interrupted Mr. Jimmerson. 
“ I’m in this yere deal, an’ I don’t intend 
that we all air goin’ calawhoopin’ into them 
woods ’thout leavin’ someone yere to tend to 
things.” 

Then he stepped to the door of the store 
and called : 

“ Sammy ! ” 

A tow-headed boy of fifteen, whose face 
I had seen framed in the window when we 
drove up, came to the door. 

He came out awkwardly with his hands in 
the pockets of a pair of buckskin trousers. 
His face was the exact counterpart of his 
father’s even to the solemn look of age, and 
Sammy, as we afterward learned, spoke in 
a droll and slow way, and walked accord- 
ingly. He wore a pair of cowhide boots 
and a canvas hunting-jacket. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


77 


“ Sammy,” said Mr. Jimmerson, with 
fatherly pride. “Kinder keep an eye on 
things ginerally, fur I’m goin’ to take a 
stroll through the timber. Ef that feller 
Simpson sneaks in yere, hook onto him ! 
D’ y’ hear me shoutin’ ? ” 

“ I reckon I do,” drawled Sammy, in no 
way visibly impressed. “ I hain’t deaf !” 

“ An’ Sammy’ll do hit,” went on Mr. 
Jimmerson, turning to me. “ Tie you-uns, 
dogs up ; we got enough ’thout ’em, an’ I 
don’t reckon they air any good in this 
business.” 

So we chained our dogs to the wagon, 
with the exception of Boose, who accom- 
panied me. 

“ Now lead on,” said Mr. Jimmerson. 

We started. 

Miguel brought up the rear. There were 
ten of us all counted, with four dogs of 
uncertain lineage and Boose to lead, and 
about twenty to get in our way to be 
kicked out. 

I led the way to the place where I had 
seen the highwayman make his exit. The 
bushes were trampled down. The broken 
stems and disturbed sticks told in which 


78 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


direction he had gone ; but it required bet- 
ter eyes than ours to trace him. 

The men huddled together for a con- 
sultation, and the dogs, scattering, started 
up a couple of rabbits and were away in 
a jiffy. 

“ Have you got that hat with you, Joe ? ” 
I whispered. 

For a reply he pulled it from his pocket 
and handed it to me, then was again ab- 
sorbed in the various methods of conduct- 
ing the hunt discussed by the men. 

I called Boose, and letting him smell the 
hat, ordered him to “Go find ! ” 

He wagged his tail, trotted around with 
his nose to the ground until he struck the 
place where the man had gone through, and 
then dropping on his haunches he gave ut- 
terance to that doleful wail we had heard 
before. 

He had found the scent. 

I glanced at the men. They were too 
deeply interested in their plans to hear any- 
thing short of a gun, and the rest of the 
quartette were in the same state. 

I gripped my rifle and started toward 
Boose. He uttered a faint yelp and started 


IN THE SUNN LANES. 


79 


off with his nose to the ground, and I fol- 
lowed. 

In a second we were out of sight. 

It was growing dark, and in the dense 
wood the gloom was magnified. But my 
only thought was for Mr. Koberts’s money, 
and I paid no attention to anything else. 

Boose quickened his pace when he became 
aware that I was following, and soon I was 
compelled to run to keep him in sight. 

Around trees, through bushes and vines 
and over the trunks of fallen trees he led 
the way. 

My heart leaped high as he steered for 
the houses. Could the fellow have taken 
refuge in any of them after we left ? But 
no ; Boose halted but a moment for me to 
catch up, at a place where I saw the bushes 
were trampled as though a person had 
walked back and forth where the settle- 
ment could be seen through the trees, and 
then the trail led off to the left. 

Evidently the man had stopped to watch 
what had taken place. In which case it 
was probable that he was not far ahead ! 

Boose ran silently. Nothing could be 
heard but the rustling leaves as some fright- 


80 


IN' THE SUNK LANDS. 


ened rabbit skurried away, and the noise 
of my own body tearing through the under- 
brush. Quite enough commotion, though, 
I assure you, to have been heard a dozen 
rods in the silent forest. 

We came to shallow sloughs of water, 
where of course Boose lost the scent, but 
he showed remarkable reasoning by plung- 
ing through to the other side, where the 
trail was again taken up. 

Regardless of the fact that I did not have 
rubber boots on I hung close to his heels. 

The ground grew lower and more damp, 
and Boose followed the scent easily. This, 
I suppose, was due to the dampness and 
close proximity of the pursued, and I should 
have proceeded more cautiously ; but being 
without experience, I plunged recklessly 
on, until Boose began to bristle his back and 
growl. 

Before I could stop, the black muzzle of 
a gun was shoved through the bushes by 
the side of a tree directly ahead, and a 
hoarse voice called commandingly : 

“ Halt, there ! ” 

Boose sprang fiercely forward, and the 
man fired. 


ly THE SUNK LANDS. 


81 


The heavy charge cut off all but three 
inches of his tail. 1 did not blame him a 
bit when he gave several sharp yelps, and 
then dropping his ears and the injured 
member, took the back track at astonish- 
ing speed. 

“ Walk up yere slow, an’ mind you keep 
the muzzle o’ that weepon pinted t’other 
way ! ” brought me to my senses. 

Knowing the character I had to deal 
with I complied. 

“ You air a moughty peart young feller,” 
said the owner of the brawny hand that 
took my rifle from my half reluctant grasp. 
“ ,Got any more shootin’ irons about you ? ” 

I had not. 

“ But you air not half so smart as I took 
you to be,” went on the man, stepping out 
of the bushes, “ air you wouldn’t have kim 
sailin’ down yere behind what’s now a bob-- 
tailed dorg like you did ! ” 

I know I blushed. 

He was our friend of the night before, 
but his appearance was entirely changed. 

His face, hair and clothes were covered 
with mud, and the way he looked at me 

was little short of ferocious. 

6 


82 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

“ Didn’t ’spect to see you so soon,” he 
continued sarcastically. “Nnr I didn’t 
think when you-uns drnv me outenyour 
camp with nothin’ but my gun that I’d' ever 
be able to get ahold o’ one of yours ! ” 

And he patted the stock of my rifle af- 
fectionately. 

“ It won’t do you any good,” I said boldly. 
“ Do you think you can hold people up and 
take their money and guns, and by taking 
to these woods escape justice?” 

“ Don’t think nothin’ about it !” he said, 
doggedly. “ I know hit ! Now we’re done 
blarneyin’; so git ready fur a good old tramp 
o’ about three mile. Will you go lamb- 
like, or shall I have to hang onto your 
collar ? ” 

“ I’ll go lamb-like,” I hastily assured 
him. 

He gave a terrible grin, and then step- 
ping behind me ordered me to “ hoe hit 
lively ! ” 

He stated only the truth when he said it 
was a “ good old tramp.” I never want to 
have another like it. At times we had to 
wade through water and mud nearly to our 
waists. But no matter how difficult the 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


83 


progress was, he never allowed the “ wee- 
pons ” to leave his hands. 

It was dark when we came to a stream 
about twenty feet wide, running between 
low banks. A fallen tree served as a bridge, 
and on the other side was a small clearing 
with a cabin standing in the center. 

It suddenly struck me that the streani 
was Blue Creek, and, therefore, my captor 
was Mr. Simpson. 

He threw open the door, and I saw a 
sight that caused me to start back in sur- 
prise. 


84 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTEK VIII. 

WHAT WENT ON WITHOUT STEVE. 

“ Now, this yere chase’s got to be kerried 
on scientific like,” said Mr. Jimmerson. “ I, 
fur one, don’t ’pose to run agin a charge 
o’ buckshot, an’ I reckon there hain’t one 
among y’ll hankerin’ after sich a dose, 
neither.” 

“ Simpson, he bad man,” said Miguel, 
decidedly. 

“ I ’low there air jess as pizen a one in 
this yere crowd now,” replied Bill Morris, 
with a meaning glance at Miguel. 

Miguel started to say something, but 
checked himself. 

“ There’s been a heap o’ fur taken from 
my traps,” went on Bill, helping himself 
to a liberal chew of tobacco and seemingly 
addressing no one in particular, “ an’ I ’low 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


85 


Miggy there mought be able to tell where 
some o’ hit went. Every mother’s son o’ us 
knows he don’t own nary a trap, yit 
he brung in three otter an’ a mink last 
week.” 

Mr. Morris looked conclusively at the 
rest, and the rest looked at Miguel. 

“ I — I shoot him,” stammered the latter. 

“ Pelts taken off head an’ all, warn’t they, 
Ike ? ” asked Bill. 

Mr. Jimmerson reflected a moment, and 
then replied; 

“ Clean to the nose.” 

“ No holes ’cept the eyes? ” 

“ Nary a hole.” 

“ I reckon Miggy jumped the truth this 
yere time,” went on Bill Morris. “Cleared 
hit so durned fur he never tetched hit. I 
wanter say right yere, that ef I ketch any 
one foolin’ with my traps, he’s goin’ to git 
a bullet through him afore he kin let go ! 
Y’all hear me ? ” 

Everybody did. 

Mr. Morris looked at Miguel, who turned 
a sickly yellow, and retreated behind Ike 
Jimmerson. Just how what was promising 
to result in a quarrel would have ended, is 


86 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


doubtful, for Bob at that moment turned 
the tide of the conversation by interrupt- 
ing : 

“ Mr. Jimmerson, while your friends are 
rehearsing their personal injuries, our man 
is getting farther away. We had better be 
starting, for it’s growing darker every 
moment. Have you decided on a plan of 
procedure ? ” 

He could not help adding the latter rather 
sarcastically, for they had consumed con- 
siderable time in listening to various 
methods proposed and tales of similar hap- 
penings in years gone by. 

“Any which ? ” asked Mr. Morris, scratch- 
ing his head. 

“ Where’s the dogs ? ” demanded Ike 
Jimmerson. 

“ Skeered up a cotton tail,” volunteered 
one of the men, loquaciously. 

“ Oughter have them dorgs,” said Bill 
Morris, recovering his equanimity. “ Be so 
dark afore long we kaint see the trail.” 

Several of the men who owned dogs blew 
lustily on their hunting horns. Strange as 
it may seem, a well trained dog could dis- 
tinguish his master’s horn among all others, 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


87 


and if within hearing, would respond 
immediately. 

Two or three had straggled in, when 
Bob made a startling discovery. 

“ Where’s Steve ? ” he asked. 

“ He was here awhile ago,” replied Joe. 
“ He borrowed that fellow’s hat ” 

The three remaining members of the 
X. T. 0. Quartette looked at each other in 
astonishment. 

“ Did Boose go with the other dogs ? ” 
demanded Treve, the first to break the 
silence. 

No one could say positively as to that. 

“ What’s up ? ” asked Mr. Jimmerson, 
seeing they were looking at each other in a 
dazed kind of way. 

“ Why, Steve’s gone ! ” explained Treve. 

“ Did you-uns call him ? ” 

The three looked at each other in 
chagrin. 

“ Skeered afore you wuz hit,” laughed 
Mr. Jimmerson. 

With a common impulse they scattered, 
and commenced calling my name. Of 
course there was no response. 

“ Shore he didn’t go back to the house ? ” 


88 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

questioned Ike, as they onee more stood 
looking at each other. 

“No. I’ve been standing where I could 
see in that direction ever since we’ve been 
here,” replied Treve. 

“ Well, that gits me ! ” ejaculated Ike. 

Then he stepped along the trail, scanning 
the ground searchingly. 

“ Yere he is ! ” he shouted. 

They rushed toward him. 

“ That is — I meanter say — he went past 
yere,” he explained, breathlessly. “ Got 
them dogs ready, somebody ? ” he shouted. 

The rest of the men had gathered in their 
dogs, and a fight had already been projected. 

But Mr. Jimmerson’s question put an end 
to any such proceeding. 

“ That yaller coon dog o’ mine kin whop 
anythin’ standin on four laigs not over his 
size,” one of the men was saying as they 
came up in a body. 

“ You don’t mean to say that Steve has 
started after that man alone ? ” demanded 
Bob, clutching at Mr. Jimmerson’s sleeve. 

“ That’s jess what I do,” replied the 
other. “ Leastways he’s started. Kain’t 
say how fur he’ll go. - Y’all see there’s 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


89 


been two persons went over yere, an one 
left a heel mark in the ground that don’t 
b’long to no boot in these yere parts, ’cep- 
tin’ in you-uns crowd.” 

“ What y’ll got to start ’em on ? ” asked 
Bill Morris. 

“ Don’t need nothin’ to start my dorg,” 
said a tall, loose jointed man on the edge 
of the crowd, who rejoiced in the name 
of Sandy. “ He uster be a nigger dorg, an’ I 
reckon he won’t notice much difference 
’tween them an’ the feller we’re after.” 

“ Haul your dog in yere, then,” com- 
manded Mr. Morris. 

A lank, black dog, a species of fox-hound 
was pulled forward. 

His master retained a hold on his collar, 
and, shoving his nose to the ground, ordered 
him to : 

“ Hunt ’im up, Bulger ! ” 

Bulger, the moment his master released 
the grip on his collar, sat down on his 
haunches and basked in the gaze of the 
interested spectators. 

“ He’s too indolent,” said Treve, in 
disgust. 

‘‘ No, sir. He’s too blamed lazy ; that’s 


90 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


what’s the matter with him,” explained 
Bulger’s owner. 

Then he gave Bulger a couple of cuffs 
that awakened him with remarkable sud- 
denness. 

The dog’s nose went to the ground, he 
caught the scent, and then away he went, 
giving tongue in a way that stirred his hear- 
ers’ blood, with the rest of the dogs follow- 
ing grandly, and the men bringing up the 
rear, stumbling over each other and shout- 
ing like mad. 

High above them all could be heard the 
voice of Bulger’s master, shouting : 

“ He’s a pow’ful dorg ! Go hit, Bulger ! 
Whoop ! Waugh ! Waugh ! ” 

It seemed to the three members of the 
X. T. C. Quartette as they hurried along 
beside Mr. Jimmerson that Bulger’s deep- 
toned baying, coupled with the other dogs’ 
barks and yelps, and the men shouting, 
could be heard anywhere within a mile. 

They went over the same ground I had 
gone over a short time before. When they 
reached the trampled spot within sight of 
the settlement, Sandy called Bulger to a 
halt with a few short blasts of his horn. 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


91 


The rest immediately pulled up also. 

“ What’s up ? ” demanded Mr. Jimmerson. 

“ Trail turns to’ards the east,” explained 
Sandy, laconically. , 

“ What about hit ? ” 

“ Reckon you-uns know what kind o’ 
kentry lays yander.' Ef any o’ you got 
gum boots y’ better git ’em on afore we go 
any furder.” 

“ You-uns better git on your boots ef 
y’all got any,” advised Ike. 

So the rest waited until Mr. Jimmerson, 
the three members of the X. T. C. Quartette, 
and Sandy — who lived in the settlement — 
went back to don protection against mud 
and water. 

The trunks provided the boys with rub- 
ber suits throughout. Mr. Jimmerson ap- 
peared in a pair of rubber boots that 
reached to his waist, and Sammy’s duck 
coat. Sandy discarded boots and coat, 
and came back barefooted and breathless. 

“ I ’low he’s on this side o’ the Big Bayou,” 
he panted. 

“ Reckon he is,” replied Bill Morris, 
dryly, “ onless he wants to swim with a 
fourteen pound gun an’ his boots. Air y’all 


92 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


ready? Turn your dog loose, Sandy!” 

Before Sandy could comply, a dark 
streak flew along the ground toward them. 

It stopped in their midst, panting, bleed- 
ing, and covered with mud, and every one 
recognized — Boose I 

“ Well, I’m dodswoggled 1 ” ejaculated Ike 
Jimmerson. 

“ His tail shot plumb off!” echoed Bill 
Mori'is. 

“ Fellers,” said Mr. Jimmerson, solemnly, 
“ I guess he found him. Ef there’s a ha’r 
injured hit’s a case to stretch hemp.” 

“ Jesso ! ” assented the others. 

“ Bill,” said Ike signiflcantly. 

Mr. Morris immediately departed for the 
store, returning with a rope about thirty 
feet long. 

The others watched him gravely. 

“ Turn your dorg loose !” 

Again Bulger’s deep baying made the 
forest ring. 

Boose followed behind reluctantly. Mig- 
uel had disappeared. 

Through vines and thorn bushes, with 
occasional patches of foxtails, they went, 
one moment wading across a shallow 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 93 

slough, the next springing from bog to 
bog. 

Never once did Bulger waver or lose 
the scent. 

By the time they reached the place 
where I had met our highwayman it was 
so dark that they could scarcely see each 
other’s faces. 

Bulger turned south, when Sandy called 
him off. 

Mr. Jimmerson examined the ground with 
great minuteness, and, after assuring him- 
self and the others that I was not dead, 
said : 

“ I ’low hit were Simpson. He kotched 
the boy yere an’ made a break straight fur 
his cabin. He darsn’t go back to’ard the 
settlement fur fear o’ meetin’ jess sich a 
gang as this, so he pushed through one o’ 
the swampiest places we got in these yere 
parts.” 

“ Hit’s too dark fur to do anythin’ more,” 
said Bill Morris, decidedly. “ I ’pose we 
go back to Ike’s place, sleep over hit, an’ 
swoop down on him ’arly in the mornin’. 
He darsn’t hurt the boy.” 

An animated discussion followed, in 


94 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


which the boys were for pushing on ; but 
majority ruled, and they were compelled 
to return with the others to pass a sleep- 
less night at Jimmerson’s. 

Most of the men slept on the floor in 
the store, and seemed well pleased at the 
luxury. 

Mr. Jimmerson had them out before the 
gray dawn of morning. 

The boys will never forget that early 
walk through the mists arising from the 
sloughs. Under Mr. Jimmerson’s guidance, 
the party stopped before a cabin in a. clear- 
ing beside Blue Creek. 

No one responded to Mr. Morris’s heavy 
knock. 

“ Kick in the door,” someone suggested. 

This suggestion was acted upon, and the 
entire party, wrought up to the highest 
pitch of excitement, rushed into the small 
cabin. 

It was empty ! 

“ Skipped ! ” arose as one voice. 

The man who had so thoughtfully brought 
along the rope allowed it to slip to the 
ground floor, while he attempted to cover it 
by standing on it. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Sd 


“ Jesso !” said Mr. Morris, calmly, expec- 
torating in the open fireplace. “ I allers 
thought as how Simpson wus a pizen sneak, 
an’ now I know hit.” 

The rest expectorated in the fireplace 
and replied : 

“ Jesso !” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PATTY ABANDONED. 

A FLOOD of light streamed forth when 
my captor threw open the door of the little 
•cabin in the clearing. 

I had good cause to be astonished, for 
before me was a sight that seemed little 
less than a vision. 

Directly opposite the door was a huge 
fireplace, piled high with great hardwood 
knots, that threw a bright glare on every 
nook and cranny in the cabin. Standing 
before it, with her hand resting on a rough 
pine table, was a girl of perhaps fifteen. 

Her hair was a gold color, curly, but 
reached only to her shoulders. She had 
blue eyes, rather brown complexion, fine 
features, and was dressed in a skirt com- 
posed of doe-skin and a zouave jacket of 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


97 


yellow, embroidered with something like 
gold. A white sombrero hung above the 
mantle, which, from its clean appearance, 
I rightly judged belonged to her. 

I saw all this — and nothing else — in one 
glance, then my observation was interrupted 
by a strong hand gripping my collar, and 
it shoved me quickly inside. 

“ Don’t be skeered, youngster,” he 
grinned. “ She won’t bite you.” 

“ Oh, pap, is it you ? ” cried the feminine 
portion of the trio. “ I was afraid it was 
some of them rowdies from Jimmerson’s, 
the way you threw open the door.” 

“ You wasn’t skeered ? ” asked “ pap,” 
solicitously. 

“ Why, pap ! What could I be skeered 
for ? ” she returned, in astonishment. 

“Pap ! ” Gould this human resemblance 
at my side be the father of such a pretty 
girl ?' I felt like knocking him down on 
suspicion, but I quietly changed my mind 
when I recollected that he still held the 
“ weepons.” 

Pap did not know why she should be 
“skeered,” and winked knowingly at me, 
as much as to say that it would take con- 


98 


IN THJE SUNK LANDS. 


siderable more than a “ rowdy ” from Jim- 
merson’s “ to frighten this young lady.” 

“ Kim, Patty,” he said, coaxingly, “ what 
we got to yeat ? ” 

“ Is he goin’ to eat? ” asked Patty, turn- 
ing those large blue eyes on me, 

I felt myself grow red. Unconsciously 
I glanced down at my mud- covered gar- 
ments, and tried nervously to scratch a 
part in my hair. 

“ Of course,” replied my captor, prompt- 
ly. “ He’s comp’ny, Patty, though he did 
kim down yere agin his will, an’ I reckon 
we got to treat him white,” 

“Well, then, there’s ’possum,” began 
Patty, holding up a small brown hand and 
enumerating the various dishes on her 
fingers, “ with flour gravy, an’ potatoes, an’ 
biscuits — oh ! they’re just lovely ! — an’ 
coffee — an’, oh ! I got some sweet milk ! ” 
“No ! ” ejaculated Mr. Simpson, 

“ Certain ! ” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ I walked clean over to Dunlap’s on the 
edge of the lake. They’ve got cows, you 
know. I knew you’d be tired after cornin’ 
all the way from Jonesboro, so I got up a 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


99 


scrumptious old supper, you dear old pap ! ” 

Mr. Simpson looked at me again, some- 
thing glittering in his eyes. 

Then he thrust his hand into his inside 
pocket. 

My heart jumped into my mouth. Was 
he about to restore the fourteen hundred 
dollars ? But no ; he simply eoughed once 
or twice and then said : 

“ Tote out your grub, Patty.” 

I had another desire to knock him down, 
but desisted for the same reason as before. 

Mr. Simpson stored my rifle and his gun 
on a rack formed of deer antlers over the 
fireplace ; then, backing up to the fire, he 
motioned for me to join him. 

Patty had thrown a table-cloth over the 
table and was producing her tempting 
viands with all the pride of a young house- 
keeper. 

“ If you don’t mind,” I said hesitatingly, 
“ I would like to make my toilet.” 

“ Couldn’t think o’ hit,” said he, decid- 
edly. “ Took too much trouble totin’ you 
down yere to let you give me the run. But 
ef you wanter wash there’s a basin an’ a 
bucket o’ water in yan corner.” 


100 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Patty produced a towel that I will wager 
was equal to any rasp ever invented. 

I had finished my ablutions and was 
standing before the fireplace where the hot 
fire rapidly dried the mud on my clothes, 
when Patty said something to her father in 
a low tone, to which he replied : 

“ I’ll be blamed ef I’m goin’ to foller any 
sich ” 

“ Sh ! ” she whispered. “ There, now, 
that’s a good pap ! ” 

Mr. Simpson reluctantly advanced on the 
wash basin, from which I inferred that he 
considered such a luxury unnecessary. 

While supper waited on him I finished 
my survey of the interior of the cabin. 

A “shake down” occupied one corner. 
A ladder ascended to a loft above, and the 
floor was simply the earth packed hard, 
but swept so elean that this formed no ob- 
jectionable feature. By the fireplace stood 
a dresser, with a small cupboard above con- 
taining the tin dishes. Besides the table 
before referred to, there were three chairs 
of uncertain age and stability. Everything 
was diminutive, but neat. 

And wasn’t that a supper ! It was my 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


101 


first experience with stewed ’possum, and 
although Sammy afterwards made untiring 
efforts to compete with Patty, in my esti- 
mation they were futile. Perhaps I was 
prejudiced. 

As for the biscuits, they were not hard 
enough to knock a man down with, nor did 
they taste of saleratus. The coffee was de- 
licious ; but to be able to have cream — 
whew ! 

Mr. Simpson arose and wiped his mouth 
on his sleeve. Patty began to clear off the 
table and wash the dishes. I retired to one 
corner and, using my knife, scraped some 
of the real estate from my clothes. 

The weather grew colder and the wind 
whistled through the trees with an ominous 
sound. 

“Goin’ to have a cold snap,” volunteered 
Mr. Simpson. 

Patty looked up but did not answer. 
Neither did I. 

Mr. Simpson arose, yawned, and lit his 
pipe. Then he took his gun down from the 
rack, broke it, and after ascertaining that 
the cartridges were still there, turned to 
me with : 


102 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

“ I hate to kimpel you to leave the warm 
fire, but I reckon you’d better peramble up 
that ladder. Patty, you kin sleep down 
yere to-night.”^ 

“ Why ” began Patty, opening her 

blue eyes in astonishment. 

“ The young gentleman unnerstands 
why,” interrupted her father. “ He also 
unnerstands that I mean what I say,” he 
continued, significantly. 

I did, thoroughly. 

I don’t suppose I evef went up a ladder 
more awkwardly in my life. And simply 
because I knew I was watched by a decid- 
edly pretty girl. 

“ What are you goin’ to do, pap ? ” asked 
Patty, in rather an awestruck tone as I 
scrambled to the upper floor. 

“ Goin’ to take down that ladder,” was 
the reply. 

He went to work vigorously, lifted the 
foot of it from the floor, and then ensued a 
lively wrestle, which ended in the ladder 
getting the best of it and landing on top. 

I looked down through the scuttle-hole. 

Patty, instead of securing a safe position 
and screaming — according to my ideas of a 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


103 


girl’s action in a case of this kind — promptly 
took hold of the ladder, and with a strength 
I did not think she possessed, pulled it off 
her prostrate parent. 

His first act was to bark his shins in try- 
ing to kick it to pieces ; his second to grab 
his gun and start for the door. 

“ You’re notgoin’ out to-night, pap ? ” she 
cried, interrogatively. 

“ Yes,” he returned, half fiercely. “ I’d 
like to know how much fur there is in Mor- 
ris’s traps.” 

“ Oh, pap,” she said, tremulously. “ It’ll 
be a ‘ run out ’ if you’re caught, an’ — an’ — 
mebby a hempen collar ! ” 

“ Never you mind, little girl. I kin take 
keer o’ myself.” 

Then the door opened, closed, and he was 
gone. 

She stood a moment irresolute, then at- 
tacked it fiercely ; but it resisted her efforts 
to open it. 

I glanced about my apartments. The 
floor was of rough hewn plank. A small bed 
stood on the chimney side, with a piece of 
carpet before it. The rafters were covered 
with strings of sage, peppers, etc. Parti- 


104 JiV THE SUNK LANDS. 

tionson the floor separated walnuts, hickory- 
nuts, pecans and hazel nuts. 

“ Hello, up there ! ” 

“ Hello !” I 'returned, looking down. 

She was standing beneath the hole look- 
ing up. 

“ If we had a rope you could come down.” 
“ I — I — don’t want to come down,” I 
stammered. 

“ You don’t ! Thought mebby you’d like 
to sit up till pap gets back. He’s locked 
the door on the outside,” 

“ Kind in him,” I admitted, “ but I don’t 
think I’m infatuated enough with your 
father to sit up to see him come in. Good- 
night.” 

“ Say, have you got a sister? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Is she purty ? ” 

“ You bet ! ” I returned, emphatically. 

A few moments of silence. 

“ Can you read ? ” 

“Yes, Canyon?” 

“ No, Pap says ’tain’t any use for girls 
learn to read.” 

“ You tell your father he’s a chump and 
don’t know what he’s talking about. Will 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


105 


you — that is, after I’m gone ? ” I added 
hastily. 

“ Mebby.” 

It was some time before I ventured to ask: 

“ How old are you? ” 

“ About twenty ! ” 

I lost my balance and nearly fell through 
the floor. 

“ You’re not positive ? ” I asked, anxiously. 

“ No.” 

I felt relieved, although I could not say 
why. 

“ Lived here long ? ” I ventured again. 

“ Not very.” 

“ Where did you come from ? ” 

“ Way off somewhere.” 

“ Definite.” 

“ Eh ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Oh, say ! ” she exclaimed suddenly. 
“ Pap’s got a lot of papers stuck away in 
the Bible down here that I’m jess dyin’ 
to know what’s in ’em. Great thick ones 
with a big daub of red paint on. Will 
you ” 

“ Trot ’em out,” I interrupted with in- 
terest. 


106 the sunk lands. 

She went to the commode, took out a 
medium sized Bible, but quickly replaced 
it. 

“ Pap’s cornin’! ” she cried, “ an’ he told 
me never to touch it ! ” 

I waited long enough to' hear the door 
unfastened, then got back out of sight. 

Two persons entered. Both were ex- 
cited. 

“ Kim, Patty,” said Mr. Simpson, hur- 
riedly. “ Gather up your traps 1 We got 
to git outen yere, an’ be moughty peart 
about hit, too! Take all you kin kerry, 
but for Heaven’s sake, be quick! No time 
fur talkin’ ! ” 

I was so astonished at the change in his 
tone that I looked down to see what had 
happened. 

In the center of the room stood Miguel ! 

Patty and Mr. Simpson were hastily 
gathering a few articles which they tied 
up in a table-cloth. Mr. Simpson took the 
Bible from the commode and shoved it into 
his pocket ; then shouldered his load. 

“ Take rifle ? ” asked Miguel, pointing to 
my gun above the fireplace. 

“No. Let ’em have hit. I wish I’d 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


107 


never seen them nur their blamed guns, 
neither. Got your furs on, Patty ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Help me kerry this ladder out, Miggy. 
The youngster’ll break his neck ef he tries 
to drap, an’ I reckon we kin make ’em hunt 
fur somethin’ to git him down.” 

Then they went away, closed the door 
after them, and left me to my own reflec- 
tions. 


108 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER X. 

RESCUED. 

“ We’ll do a little snoopin’ around, an’ 
ef he hain’t yere we’ll have to toiler up till 
we find him. An’ I don’t reckon hit’ll he 
so tarnal easy to d’cide where he went with 
all them trails leadin’ from yere.” 

“ Perhaps Simpson turned him loose be- 
fore he got here, which he would probably 
do if he thought we didn’t know who he 
was, to hide his identity.” 

That was Bob’s voice. I looked around 
in bewilderment. 

A few faint streaks of light straggled in 
through cracks under the eaves, and the 
air was decidedly raw and chilly. 

I rose awkwardly to my feet. My limbs 
were stiff and sore. I must have fallen 
asleep. 

I looked at my watch. It was still going. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


109 


although I had forgotten to wind it the 
night before, and pointed to eight o’clock. 

“ Hain’t that a hole up there ? ” asked a 
voice from below. 

“Reckon hit is.” 

“ Mebby he’s up there ! ” 

The sharp clicking as a number of ham- 
mers were drawn back sent the cold shiv- 
ers down my back. Suppose they should 
fire a volley through the floor ! 

“ I ’lowed I heered somethin’ movin’ up 
there,” said another voice. “ Who’ll go 
up ? ” 

Every one was silent. 

“Wait till he moves agin an’ I’ll put a 
piece o’ lead through the floor so close that 
I reckon he’ll kim to time,” said a voice in 
a hoarse whisper, that I recognized as be- 
longing to Mr. Jimmerson. 

“ Hello, down there ! ” I cried, tremu- 
lously. “ Don’t shoot ! ” 

“ Thought that’d fetch him. Put your 
picture out over that hole there purty 
quick or fix to dodge bullets ! ” 

It is needless to say that I was not slow 
in following instructions. 

A strange sight was presented. 


110 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


Standing in half a circle, with their guns 
pointed at the hole, was an assembly of 
men, led by Mr. Jimmerson and backed up 
by the three members of the X. T. C, Quar- 
tette. 

“ Why, it’s Steve ! ” came up in a regu- 
lar chorus. 

“ Of course it’s me,” I replied, calmly, now 
that there was no danger of being shot by 
mistake. “ Who’d you think it was ? ” 

“ We ’lowed mebby hit wuz Simpson,” 
replied Mr. Jimmerson. “ Sling up the end 
o’ that rope, Jim.” 

Jim, who was a fair sample of the rest in 
appearance, and who was standing on a 
rope, promptly separated half of the coils 
and sent them whirling up through the 
hole. 

“ Put hit over the rafter an’ send the end 
down, so we kin haul hit back, an’ slide 
down yere.” 

I did as directed. 

The next moment I was shaking hands 
with Bob, Treve, Joe and Mr. Jimmerson 
all at the same time. The rope was drawn 
down and then Mr. Jimmerson said : 

“ I don’t see how Simpson kim to leave 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


Ill 


your rifle, onless he furgot hit. We found 
hit hangin’ on them deer horns.” 

“ He told Miguel ” 

“ Miguel ! ” they cried. 

“ Why, yes. He came here last night 
with Simpson. I wouldn’t be surprised but 
what he warned Simpson that you were 
after him.” 

“ Where’d they go ? ” asked Ike quickly. 

“ I don’t know. They took what they 
could tie up in a table-cloth and got out as 
quickly as possible.” 

“ What time was it ? ” asked Bob. 

“ About half-past eight last night.” 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Jimmerson, disgustedly. 
“ I reckon we mought jess as well quit now. 
They’ve struck the Big Bayou, an’ ef they 
could rake up a dugout, which no doubt 
they did, they’re safe an’ fast in the swamps 
by this time.” 

“ Y’ kaint track over water, ’specially 
when there’s so many sloughs an’ bayous 
leadin’ into one another, as there is around 
yere,” remarked Mr. Bill Morris. “ I 
reckon Miggy’s got sense enough to know 
that the climate won’t be healthy fur him 
around yere now.” 


112 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


I heaved a heavy sigh. According to 
public opinion, then, the fourteen hundred 
dollars intrusted to me was lost. 

“ I reckon we mought jess as well be 
travelin’ to’ards home,” hinted Mr. Morris. 

It was a solemn procession that wended 
its way among the trees single file. I 
brought up the rear, stumbling along after 
the others through mud and water soaked 
grass, clinging to my rifle and a vague hope 
that it would end all right. 

What would Mr. Roberts say ? I asked 
myself that question on an average- of twice 
a minute. Twice the money had been in 
my charge, and both times it had been lost. 

“ Never mind,” I thought. “ They say 
there is a charm connected with the figure 
three, and if I ever get hold of it again, ITl 
keep it till I can hand it over to Mr. Jim- 
merson.” 

But what if Mr. Jimmerson needed the 
money ? I resolved to ask him at the first 
opportunity. 

Loafer was contentedly chewing the sup- 
ports of the porch when we arrived., 

Mr. Jimmerson finished the driving of a 
sharp bargain with Bill Morris and another 


IN TUN HUNK LANU8. 


113 


trapper, that had been interrupted by our 
arrival the night before. The rest looked 
on with profound interest until the deal 
was closed and then sauntered off with the 
two trappers. 

Mr. Jimmerson ran over the pelts lying 
on the porch to make sure that he had not 
miscalculated them, then, turning to us, he 
said : 

“ Y’all better unload your trunks an’ make 
yourselves to home. Y’ll won’t want to 
start out afore to-morrow mornin’. I reckon 
y’all want some breakfust by this time.” 

We replied that a little would be accept- 
able. 

“ The old woman’ll fix y’all up somethin’. 
Sammy ! ” 

The sound of an axe that could be heard 
at regular intervals in the rear suddenly 
ceased. Sammy came around the house, 
with his hands in his pockets, as usual, and 
a very bashful air. 

“ Sammy,” said Mr. Jimmerson, “ you 
help the boys kerry their trunks into the 
side room, an’ then see that they don’t git 
lonesome.” 

We protested. 


114 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

“ We can unload them,” said Bob, quickly, 
“ and if yon don’t object, we’d rather leave 
them in the store than carry them anywhere. 
They’re not light by a long ways ! ” 

“ Any way,” acquiesced Mr. Jimmerson ; 
“ but remember what I told you, Sammy !” 

We carried the trunks into the store. 
This was a roomy affair, with shelves and 
counters on three sides containing at least 
a dozen different stocks. You could get 
anything from a shingle nail to a gaudy 
scarf pin ; but dry groceries and ammunition 
were the most in demand. 

A large box stove stood in the center, sur- 
rounded by an assortment of three-legged 
stools and empty boxes. There was a cel- 
lar underneath, so Sammy told us, where 
Mr. Jimmerson stored his pelts until the 
season closed, when they were packed 
and carted to Jonesboro for shipment. 

Sammy proved a veritable shadow, and 
was very precise in his explanations. 
Whether this was due to his father’s com- 
mand or to the fact that he had outgrown 
his bashfulness, I could not determine. 
His odd and solemn ways drew us to him 
irresistibly. 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 115 

“ I reckon maw’s got y’alls breakfast 
ready,” he said, after we had explored the 
premises. 

We adjourned, under his guidance, to the 
L in the rear, wherein we found Mrs. Jim- 
merson and seven other little Jimmersons. 

“Why, land sakes! hit’s no trouble ’tall,” 
she said, in reply to Bob’s apology. “ Jess 
make yourselves to home an’ yeat all you 
kin. I reckon y’all mought have a purty 
peart appetite after chasin’ old Simpson ? 
Yes, I thought so. He’s a mean man, is 
Simpson. I uster to tell Ike ” 

A prolonged wail and the clatter and 
splash of water in the kitchen told that one 
of the Jimmersons was into trouble — and 
the washtub. Mrs. Jimmerson flew to the 
rescue, so we failed to learn what “ she 
uster tell Ike.” 

How we did demolish that breakfast of 
bacon and eggs, with potatoes, coffee and 
white bread ! And six little Jimmersons 
perched themselves around the room and 
watched every mouthful disappear, notwith- 
standing the fact that they were chased 
out every alternate flve minutes by their 
mother and a towel. 


116 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


In the afternoon Sammy piloted us to a 
nice secluded spot, where we made sad 
havoc among the squiri^els, and just before 
dusk I managed to corner Mr. Jimmerson 
and inquire about money matters. 

“ I did need hit pow’ful bad,” he replied ; 
“ but I’m goin’ to git along ’thouthit. No 
use to tell Roberts an’ have him worry in’, 
so we’ll jess keep mum. Sooner or later 
some one’s bound to run across Simpson, 
an’ I reckon ef I git my hands on him he’ll 
know what’s what ! ” 

That evening the members of the X. T. C. 
Quartette joined the miscellaneous crowd 
that occupied the stools and boxes in the 
store. There were some who lived by 
trapping and some who did not ; but they 
all managed to get into “Ike’s store” 
whenever such a thing was possible, to pass 
away an evening. 

Smoking and story telling seemed to be 
the order of the occasion. Some of the 
stories were prodigious ones, and are no 
doubt tendered to each new arrival, with 
more or less embellishment, according to 
the prevaricator’s conscience. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


117 


At last it came Mr. Bill Morris’s turn to 
pour forth his fabrication. He drew off 
his coat, and we gripped our seats in ex- 
pectation of hearing how he slew seventeen 
panthers inside of four minutes by the 
watch in his hand ; although why he should 
have held a watch in his hand at such a 
critical moment was one of the unexplained 
problems that was passed over in dead 
silence. 

“ Hit wuz down on Dunlap’s claim,” be- 
gan Mr. Morris, “ Y’all know where Dun- 
lap’s claim is. I wuz a-goin’ over to see 
the old man, who wuz down with the shiv- 
ers, an’ jess as 1 got along by the little bayou 
that runs through there, I noticed an old 
sycamore that had been snapped off about 
forty feet from the ground. I wuz a-lookin’ 
at hit when I seed a coon run outen a hole 
in the bottom, shin up the old tree an’ go 
in over the top. Hardly had his tail dis- 
’peared when out he kim at the bottom, 
shins up the tree, jess same’s afore. 

“ I kinder pinched myself to make shore 
1 hadn’t taken too much an’ wuz still kickin’ 
when out he kim ag’in,. gen’lemen,” said 


118 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Mr, Morris, impressively, “ I watched that 
coon do that jess seventeen times ! ” 

“ What wuz the matter with hit?” asked 
one of the men. 

“ There warn’t nothin’ the matter with 
hit. I shinned up that air tree myself, an’ 
blamed ef hit warn’t so full o’ coons that 
every time one went in at the top he crowded 
one out at the bottom ! ” 

Everybody looked at everybody else, ex- 
pectorated in the fire and said Solemnly : 

“ Jesso ! ” 

After a painful silence, I was about to ask 
what he did with them, which no doubt 
would have confused him, when a gentle- 
man named Sandy, whose acquaintance I 
had made during the day, chimed in : 

“ That reminds me o’ what I seed once. 
Hit wus the bigges’ tree I ever seed, an’ 
there wuz a line o’ bees makin’ fur one o’ 
the branches. So I gits a couple o’ fellers 
to help me cut hit down. We cut most o’ 
that day ; but hit never trembled. So I 
walks round to t’other side, jess to see how 
big hit wus.” 

“ Well ? ” asked. Bob, impatiently, as the 
other paused, 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


119 


“ Mebby y’all won’t b’lieve hit : but jess’s 
shore as y’all hear me talkin’, there was four 
men a ehoppin’ on t'other side an’ I never 
knowed hit ! ” 

“ That was pretty close to the coon tree, 
wasn’t it ? ” asked Joe, sarcastically. 

Sandy “ disremembered ” whether it was 
or not. 

“ Speakin’ o’ coons,” said Mr. Jimmerson, 
abruptly, “ gives me an ’igee. Ef you-uns’ll 
stay till day after to-morrow, we’ll have a 
rousin’, old-fashioned coon hunt to-morrow 
night ! What d’y’ say ? ” 

“We’ll stay !” cried the X. T. C. Quar- 
tette with one voice. 


120 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A COON HUNT. 

“ I ’low every one yere is in fur a coon 
hunt?” interrogated Mr. Jimmerson. 

“ You bet ! ” chorused the rest. 

*' We’ll git all the dogs we kin,” pursued 
Mr. Jimmerson, “an’ I reckon y’ll better 
tie yourn up to-morrow so we’ll be shore o’ 
em.” 

“ Jesso !” acquiesced the others. 

“ I’m goin’ to bed,” announced Mr. Jim- 
merson. 

At this gentle hint the men stretched, lit 
their pipes and tried to introduce another 
topic. But Mr. Jimmerson threw some more 
wood on the fire, and then opening the door 
told the assembly to “ cl’ar themselves. 

At this inhospitable command they strag- 
gled out. I should have thought they would 
have cut his acquaintance ; but they seemed 


m TH^ SUNK LANDS. 121 

to bear no ill will and were around as usual 
the next day. 

“ We’re goin’ to have a frost afore morn- 
in’,” predicted Sammy, as we tramped into 
the little room next the store, 

“ How do you know? ” asked Treve. 

“Feel hit,” was the sage reply. 

That was the only reason the rustic young 
gentleman would give, but he prophesied 
rightly, for everything bore the marks of 
Jack Frost’s breath the next morning. If 
Sammy knew of any indications whereby 
to foretell the state of the weather, he was 
profound enough to keep silent and lead us 
to believe that he possessed a barometer in 
his body. 

“ Hit’ll be a good mornin’ fer rabbits,” 
he said, as we looked out of the solitary 
little window a few moments after being 
aroused by Mr. Jimmerson’s stentorian 
voice. “ They taste better after a frost.” 

We stumbled out of the room and out to 
a well in the rear. The latter was but six 
feet deep, but contained plenty of water, 
owing to the nature of the country. 

“ I don’t know what you-uns wanted to 
bring dogs down yere fur,” said Mr. Jim- 


122 


IN THE SUNK LANHS. 


merson, as we were seated at the breakfast- 
table. “ They’re too valuable dogs fur coon 
huntin’, an’ I don’t reckon they know any- 
thin’ about b’ars.” 

“No,” replied Bob ; “ but for quails and 
chickens two of them can’t be beat, and the 
spaniel Sam is worth a fortune for bringing 
in ducks.” 

“ Sallright,” said Mr. Jimmerson, by no 
means convinced ; “ but you kin shoot quail 
in the timber yere ’thout no dog, an’ as fur 
ducks, ef you shoot from a blinded dugout 
you kin pick ’em up yourself.” 

“ But you surely can’t find any fault with 
Boose,” I interrupted. 

“ Hain’t findin’ fault with any o’ ’em. 
They’re all fine dogs. I jess remarked that 
you could a-saved the money hit cost to 
cart’ em down yere ; but I reckon y’all kin 
find use fur ’em.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Treve, promptly. 
“ And they’ll work a great deal better than 
strange dogs will.” 

“Well, you wanter tie ’em up to-night. 
A yaller cur’ll do jess as well to hunt coons, 
an’ ef he gits chawed up you don’t lose so 
much.” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


123 


And having ventilated his views on the 
dog question, Mr. Jimmerson changed the 
subject. 

We waged war on the cotton tails that 
morning. For two hours the woods rang 
with the reports. Sammy carried a long 
rifle of uncertain age and small bore. He 
seemed to think that a rabbit killed with 
shot was not worth carrying home, and ac- 
cordingly punctured each that he brought 
down through the head. 

“ Grum boots an’ axes to-night,” said 
Jimmerson, after supper had been properly 
discussed. 

“And plenty of fun,” Joe added. 

“ More’n y’all kin shake a stick at,” re- 
plied Sammy. 

“Don’t you intend to take any guns?” 
I asked, in surprise. 

“ Nixy. Torches will be enough.” 

The men began to congregate early. They 
came by twos and threes, each with from 
two to half a dozen dogs hanging to his 
heels. 

Great pine knots were lighted. They 
flared up over the heads of the crowd 
gathered in front of the store, and lighted 


124 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


up the surroundings within a radius of ten 
rods. 

The dogs issued challenges and a dozen 
fights were in progress at one time. The 
men yelled, the dogs howled and fought, 
and pandemonium reigned supreme. 

“ Hurry up,” cried Mr. Jimmerson, com- 
ing in for the fourth time to where we were 
hauling on our hoots, to find that Treve had 
put burrs in the bottom. “ Ef we wait much 
longer we won’t have a dog left ! ” 

Mr. Jimmerson gave several toots on his 
hunting horn and led off. The dogs ceased 
fighting and quickly took to the front. 
The five men who carried axes gripped the 
handles of their implements, while the 
rest hitched up their trousers and shouted 
to the dogs, probably from the fact that 
they had nothing else to do but to keep 
up. 

But I soon found that keeping iip was 
no easy task. The Quartette and Sammy 
kept close together at the start, but when 
the dog’s sharp yelps took a more definite 
direction as the prolonged bay of one or 
two denoted that they had “ somethin’ 
treed,” we caught the infection and shouted,- 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


125 


whistled, jumped and ran just like the 
rest. 

We soon came to where a confused mass 
of dogs surrounded a large pecan tree. 
They were baying and leaping up and 
making ineffectual efforts to climb the tree. 
The men walked around with the torches, 
peering into the dense branches above. 

“ There’s three o’ em ! ” shouted some 
one. 

Three pairs of glistening green eyes 
peered out of the darkness. 

“ Shin up an’ push ’em off, won’t y’, 
Sammy ? ” requested his father. 

“ Naw, I won’t. The fork’s too high up 
an’ the tree’s too big.” 

“ Then down she comes.” 

The dogs were kicked away and the crowd 
stood back to make room for the men with 
axes. The chips began to fly, and in a re- 
markably short time the huge tree tottered, 
and amid a general scramble to get out of 
the way, came down with a rush. 

Three little animals bounded out from 
the branches almost before it touched the 
ground ; but before they had gone three 
feet the dogs were on them, 


126 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


But they managed to get their backs to 
a tree, and then they fought as I had never 
seen anything fight before. The dogs 
pressed them hard, but 'without avail. 
Their snaps were like lightning and their 
teeth sharp as needles. Every now and 
then there would be a yelp louder than the 
rest and a poor dog would limp out and lie 
down, licking the place where the sharp 
teeth had penetrated. No one could help 
the dogs for fear of hitting a dog instead of 
a coon, so they stood back and cheered 
them on. 

The dogs realized they were making no 
headway, and slacked up a trifle, and the 
coons, taking advantage of this, tried to 
climb the tree. 

That was exactly what the dogs wanted. 
The struggle then was brief, but some of 
the bites inflicted in the death struggle 
were fearful. 

“ Where do the dogs start them up ? ” I 
asked of Sammy, who was standing near, 
as everybody stopped for a breathing spell 
and to light fresh torches. 

“ They git some o’ ’em along the edge 
o’ the water fishin’ fur frogs. Ef the coon 


I?f THE SU^^K LANDS. 


127 


kin make his hole he’ll do hit, but ef he 
kain’t, he goes up the first tree he kin 
make.” 

“ Call up the dogs an’ start ’em agin,” 
shouted Mr. Jimmerson. 

The hunting horns rang out lustily. 

Soon the pack assumed formidable di- 
mensions, and then they were started with 
whoops and yells. 

We plunged along after them, with the 
wounded limping in the rear, as though, 
although disabled, they were bound to be 
in at the death. 

The ground grew more boggy, and as we 
tore along the many feet splattered the mud 
until we were covered. But we shouted 
and whistled just as loud as before when 
the dogs treed another coon, and thought 
it great fun. 

We realized the inconsistency of this fun 
the next morning, when we scraped the fox 
tails, Spanish needles and mud from our 
garments. 

Seven coons had been secured, and the 
fun was growing dull and seemed more like 
work, when the dogs made another rally 
and “ ti'eed somethin’.” The men began 


128 IN the sunk lands. 

chopping and we watched the glowing eyes 
in the branches of the old hickory. 

The torches fluttered with the draught 
caused by its descent ; the dogs barked and 
crowded around the trunk, and almost be- 
fore we realized it there was an qar-splitting 
shriek, and something larger than a coon 
bounded right iii among the dogs. 

It seemed to strike only twice and two 
dogs dropped, cut to pieces by the terrible 
claws, while the rest turned and fled. 

The men dropped their torches and 
scrambled back. I ran with the rest. 

Two of the torches spluttered on the 
ground, and, as I gave one hasty glance 
over my shoulder, I saw the. animal jump, 
strike somebody and both went to the 
ground. 

The next instant I heard a cry : 

“ Help ! help ! Steve, Bob, Treve ! It’s a 
wildcat ! ” 

It was Joe’s voice ! 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


129 


CHAPTER XIL 

TROUBLE. 

I STOPPED the moment that appeal rang 
out. So did two others, but the rest kept 
on until they reached a perfectly safe dis- 
tance. 

And not a rifle or gun in the crowd. 

“ Hurry up,” shouted Joe, in a muffled 
tone. 

The other two came forward. They were 
Treve and Bob. 

“ Don’t move, and try not to breathe,” 
cried Bob, encouragingly. “ We will have 
you up in a jiffy.” 

“ Let’s have some light on the subject,” 
called Treve, as coolly as though there was 
not a boy lying under a wild cat within 
fifteen feet of him. 

Both of the torches that remained lit 


130 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

were lying close to the two figures on the 
ground. 

I walked softly toward them as Bob 
did the same on the other side. 

The wild cat was standing with its fore- 
paws on Joe, who was lying very quiet, 
with his head covered with his arms, and 
his face close to the earth to protect his 
eyes. 

It was about the size of my setter Dan, 
but a great deal heavier, with shorter legs 
and a bushy tail. 

What we did would have to be done 
quickly, for, if it began to scratch, work 
must be speedy to save poor Joe’s back. I 
knew about how the claws felt after being 
pinned down by a panther, and had heard 
how they hang on with their forefeet while 
they work their hind ones. The latter be- 
ing supplied with claws about two inches 
long, you can imagine how they would cut 
a person up. Butcher knives would be no 
rival. 

The beast eyed me furtively as I ap- 
proached. Just then, by the feeble light 
of the torches, I caught sight of something 
glistening on the ground. 


IN THB SUNK LANDS. 


131 


My heart leaped high. It was an axe, 
dropped in the hurried rush. All this 
transpired in less than a minute. 

Bob gave an exultant cry and caught up 
a torch. Treve got the other one, and, with 
the flaming brands outstretched, they 
charged at the same moment that I pounced 
down on the axe. 

But the wildcat, instead of taking off, 
construed it as a help to his work, and, 
with a spiteful yowl, swung around and 
commenced to use its claws with terrible 
effect. 

There was not a second to be lost. I 
swung the axe around my head and ran 
forward. 

There came cries of pain, and Joe tried 
to stagger to his feet. This made it doubly 
dangerous. Suppose I should strike Joe ! 

I swallowed pretty hard, and then, as 
they rolled toward me, I saw the cat was 
on top. 

Once around my head, and then, driven 
by every ounce of strength I possessed, the 
axe descended, struck something hard, and 
sank in like a knife into a water melon. 

There was a feeble wail, and the cat roll- 


132 


m THE SUNK LANES. 


ed off, shaking like an aspen. It stiffened, 
its limbs moved once or twice, and it was 
dead ! 

Mr. Jimmerson ran up just then with an 
axe, followed by Sammy, Mr. B. Morris, 
and two others. 

“Well, I’ll swap — ” he explained, as he 
took in the situation, and then stopped. 

“ Positions with me ? ” asked Joe, faintly, 
as Treve and Bob helped him to his feet. 

His clothes above the waist were literally 
cut to pieces, and three large and a dozen 
small cuts showed what a wildcat could 
do in thirty seconds. 

“ I’ll make you a wash soon’s we kin git 
home an’ you’ll be all right in a day or two. 
You uns air makin’ a good start ; got a 
good pelt already.” 

None of the Quartette took any interest 
in the pelt, although Mr. Morris promptly 
whipped out a knife and had it off in no 
time. 

Mr. Jimmerson gave several encouraging 
toots on his horn, and the others came 
straggling in, with any number of excuses 
for running away. Bob pulled off his coat 


IJV THE SUNK LANDS. 133 

and wrapped it around Joe, and then the 
homeward march was begun. 

We had strayed farther away than we 
thought, and it was over an hour afterward 
before we came out in the clearing. Mr. 
Jimmerson, true to his word, made some 
preparation from herbs which was applied 
to Joe’s back with such good effect that 
that young gentleman declared himself 
perfectly able to start for Muddy Kun the 
next morning. 

But the remaining members of the Quar- 
tette refused to see it in that light, so we 
postponed the departure until another day. 

“ Two coats clawed up,” said Joe rather 
ruefully. “ If we run against any more 
such animals we won’t have any clothes to 
take home. As the damaged party in this 
transaction, I put in a petition for his hide.” 

“ Granted,” agreed the rest. 

“ You’re luckier than I am,” said I. 
“ The panther that clawed up my coat we 
forgot to skin.” 

“ A person would be excusable if he for- 
got he had a head after passing such a night 
as we did,” put in Treve. 

“ I’ll run over your grub an’ fixin’s with 


134 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


you,” said Mr, Jimmerson, coming up at that 
moment, “ an’ see ef I can’t add somethin’.” 

“ I don’t believe you can,” said Bob, 
“ unless it is the ‘ grub.’ We brought only 
what we needed on the train, intending to 
purchase here a few staple articles, such as 
sugar, colfee, flour ” 

“ Flour,” interrupted Mr. Jimmerson. 
“ Better take corn meal. Y’all kin make 
more use o’hit and hit’s a great deal easier 
to handle,” 

“ Corn meal goes,” said Bob, promptly, 
throwing open the trunks and beginning to 
extract our equipments for Mr, Jimmerson’s 
inspection. 

“ Each of us have one pair of woolen 
blankets, one of rubber, a pair of rubber 
boots, short, another pair with tops, rub- 
ber coats and hats, two hunting jackets, an 
overcoat, gloves, tin cup, a rifle and two 
guns — Joe has an extra rifle — six hundred 
pounds of ammunition, assorted, a set of re- 
loading tools, fifty pounds of shot, assorted, 
and ten of powder and a chance to replen- 
ish it, 

‘‘Besides this we have two frying pans 
and a coffee pot, hermetic match cases. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


135 


hunting knives, a good supply of clothing, 
and — and— I guess that is all. No ; here 
is a pocket glass, comb and brush, and 
some fish lines.” 

And Bob dived into the trunks to see if 
he had missed anything. 

“ An’ you got all that truck in ’em ? ” 
ejaculated Mr. Jimmerson, leaning against 
the door casing and staring at the huge 
pile before him. 

“ Yes,” grumbled Treve, “ and it is funny 
to me that we were not charged with excess 
of baggage.” 

“ But the most important thing you 
haven’t got.” 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ Not a scrap o’ grub in the whole outfit.” 

“ Oh, we’re going to buy some from you,” 
said Bob, confidently, “ and we intend to 
live on game most of the time.” 

Mr. Jimmerson scratched his head a 
moment, and then said : 

“ Here’s what I’m a-going to give, an’ I 
don’t want no pay fur hit, neither, fur Sam- 
my’s a-goin’ along, an’ I reckon y’all will 
bring everything back so there’ll be no loss ; 


136 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


a hatchet, three axes, some nails, corn meal, 
coffee, sugar, salt, pepper, some chain an’ 
a hundred an’ fifty traps fur small game. 
Ef y’all need any more, Sammy kin make 
some figure-fours an’ downfalls. Anythin’ 
else you want ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Sammy. “ We want five 
o’ your dogs, an’ them with their four will 
make hit kinder rusty fur anythin’ we 
tackle.” 

“And Loafer,” reminded Joe. 

“ He kin eat cane leaves an] grass,” Sam- 
my replied. 

“ It’s cold day and a high wind blowing 
when we get left,” said Treve, jubilantly, 
and with that the conference ended. 

The Jimmersons were early risers. We 
had scarcely swallowed our breakfast the 
next morning, and could hardly see a dozen 
feet for the fog, when our recognized 
guide, Mr. Samuel Jimmerson, gave the 
order to load up. 

“ Hit’s a purty bad road,” he explained, 
“ an’ I reckon hit’ll be nigh ontonopn afore 
we git there. The shanty’ll need fixin’, ef 
the Swamp Angels have left any shanty 
’tall, an’ we’ll need daylight to do hit,” 


IN THIS SUNK LANDS. 


137 


“The Swamp Angels ? ” said Bob, inter- 
rogatively. 

“Yes. Hit’s a gang that have got an 
igee they run the Sunk Lands. They run 
a feller off paw had trappin’ over there last 
season.” 

The Quartette exchanged glances. 

“ Do you suppose we will have trouble ? ” 
asked Joe. 

“ Mebby a little fracas,” replied Sammy, 
coolly. “ They won’t pester us long.” 

And that was all he would say on the 
subject. 

A large sack containing the corn meal 
and other articles was loaded into the wagon 
with the trunks. Next came the hundred 
and fifty small traps, axes, etc., and when 
the Quartette and Sammy mounted. Loafer 
had all he could draw. 

The dogs were allowed to run loose, and 
Sammy volunteered the information that 
they would pull down a rabbit when they 
got hungry. 

The blind road leading to Muddy Run 
was a trifle worse than the others we had 
traversed, but the scenery was about the 
same. The ground grew higher and more 


138 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


firm when within half a mile of it. A 
dozen times we got stuck, but by pulling at 
the wheels and giving Loafer a rest we 
managed to sight the cabin at three o’clock. 

It stood in the midst of a number of tree 
stumps, fronting on a good sized bayou, 
with a sway-back roof and the door par- 
tially gone. 

Sammy took the lead and we worked 
like beavers. 

The old chimney of mud and sticks was 
repaired. We cut down tall saplings and 
fixed the door by nailing them upright, 
as close together as possible, and built a 
cosy little L for Loafer. Sammy was for 
turning him loose to find his own food, but 
Bob reminded him that we should be held 
responsible if he was lost, and would not 
hear of it. We plastered the cracks in the 
cabin Avith mud, cut a large quantity of 
firewood from a fallen tree, and had a large 
fire roaring in the fireplace and no game 
when darkness settled down. 

“ Hit’ll be all right,” said Sammy, as we 
stood in the centre and surveyed our handi- 
work. “ We’ll git a panther skin an’ tack 
hit inside the door to keep the cold out ; 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


139 


but we hain’t got nothin’ to yeat onless 
I kin knock over a turkey. Howsomever, 
I’ll try hit,” 

He took his rifle and went out. We fed 
Loafer and then sat down to wait. 

The minutes went by slowly, then came 
the peculiar “whang” of his rifle, and a few 
minutes later he came in with a turkey 
dangling at his side. 

We pounced upon that turkey, had it 
cleaned in no time and frying over the 
coals. One was detailed to keep the dogs 
away, while the others hauled out the 
blankets and spread them on the floor. 

Sammy took some of the corn meal, 
mixed it with water and plenty of salt, and 
molding it into cakes, buried it in the glow- 
ing coals. It was extracted later on, slight- 
ly burnt, and we indulged for the first time 
in “ ash cake,” 

“ I wish we had a better way o’ lockin’ 
that door ’sides the chain,” said Sammy, 
between mouthfuls. “ I’ll fix up a bar 
to-morrow.” 

That was a gay party in the cabin that 
night. After supper we fed the dogs, and 
lying at full length on the blankets before 


140 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


the fire listened to Sammy’s wonderful 
stories. 

I fancied, however, that it was not the 
relating of perilous escapes that caused 
Sammy to keep looking at the door, while 
he stopped every now and then to listen. 
But he said nothing concerning his actions, 
and thinking that perhaps it was his cus- 
tom to indulge in such movements while 
camping out, I refrained from asking. 

“ We’ll leave the dogs inside,” he said, 
just before we rolled up in our blankets to 
go to sleep, “ an’ keep our rifies handy.” 

Then he loaded his carefully, made a 
circuit of the cabin, came back, rolled up, 
and went to sleep. 

I lay watching the fire quite awhile be- 
fore I dropped olf. It seemed as though 
I had scarcely closed my eyes before I was 
awakened by a terrible clatter. 

I rose to a sitting position. The dogs 
were barking like mad and trying to get 
out the door, while from Loafer’s stable 
came the thump and crash of the wood as 
he kicked out blindly. Sammy was already 
on his feet. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


141 


“ Grab y’alls guns an’ kim out ! ” he 
shouted. 

Then with his rifle in one hand he threw 
open the door and disappeared in the 
darkness, preceded by the dogs. 


142 


IN THE mNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SWAMP ANGELS. 

“ What’s the trouble ? ” demanded Bob, 
raising himself on his elbow. 

“ I hit him ! ” cried Treve, half asleep, 
staggering to his feet and nearly falling in 
the fire. 

“ Sammy said to bring our rifles and 
come outside,” I replied excitedly, grab- 
bing my rifle and running to the door. 

It was extremely dark without. 

I waited until my eyes grew accustomed 
to the blackness, and then started out, just 
in time to stop one of the flying saplings 
from Loafer’s stable, that knocked me over, 
on my back. 

I saw more stars in two seconds than 
have ever been discovered since the world 
began. 


ly Till: HUNK LANDS. 143 

The rest of the Quartette came out in 
time to lift me to my feet. 

Amid flashes of lurid light I saw the form 
of Sammy run a few feet, lift his rifle and 
Are at something running toward the tim- 
ber. A cry of pain came out of the dark- 
ness, and the dogs sprang away in that 
direction. 

For a moment everything was still. 
Even Loafer ceased to kick. 

“ Bring a light out yere,” called Sammy. 

Treve ran into the cabin and came back 
with a blazing fagot. 

“ What did you hit ? ” asked Bob, as 
Sammy began to load his rifle. 

“ The critter that was in the stable.” 

“ What was it — a panther ? ” I asked. 

“ No. Hit wuz a two-laigged critter. I 
Tow hit wuz one o’ them Swamp Angels 
prowlin’ around. He thought he’d walk 
off" with Loafer ; but the old hoss fooled 
him. When I got out yere there warn’t 
nothin’ movin’ ; but when y’all kim sailin’ 
out he broke from behind a stump an’ I let 
him have it afore I knowed what hit wuz.” 

“Is — is he dead ? ” I asked, hesitatingly. 

“ Groin’ to see. One o’ you-uns stay an’ 


144 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


see that they don’t lug off what we got 
while we’re gone. Mebby some more 
hangin’ around. We won’t let ’em git a 
cinch on us like that feller did on Mau- 
melle Lake with y’ll.” 

We bit our lips and decided that Bob 
should remain. 

“ Keep your eyes open,” cautioned 
Sammy. “ There’s — hup — oh, hit’s the 
dogs kem back. Didn’t think they’d go very 
fur ’thout some one behind ’em. You bet- 
ter keep ’em fur there’s enough o’ the 
Swamp Angels to clean you out afore we 
could git back.” 

Sammy took the torch and swung it 
around his head to make it blaze up, and 
then watching the ground closely he started 
toward the timber, while Bob called the 
dogs and retired to the cabin. 

We followed closely behind Sammy, 
gripping our rifles nervously. I half ex- 
pected a shot from any direction. 

“ Hit wus a man,” said Sammy, pointing 
to a broad footprint in the moist earth. 
“ An’ there is blood,” he continued, point- 
ting to a line of dark spots on the dead 
leaves. “ I reckon he understands now 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


145 


that we don’t ’low any foolin’ around us ! ” 
“ Goin’ to follow it up ? ” asked Joe. 

“ Not by a long shot ! He might be layin’ 
fur us a leetle furder on, I don’t reckon 
they’ll pester us any more.” 

Hardly were the words out of his mouth 
before a shot rang out, followed by the bark- 
ing of dogs, a confused murmur of voices, 
and then : 

“ Help ! help ! They’re down on me ! ” 
“ That is Bob’s voice,” cried Treve, as we 
stood aghast. 

“ Jupiter and Mars ! ” ejaculated Joe. 
“ Kun for it, boys ! ” 

Sammy dashed the blazing fagot to the 
ground and extinguished it with his heel. 
Then we turned and ran toward the cabin. 
Before the shanty were the shadowy forms 
of a crowd of men. Standing before the 
door, out of which the light shone between 
the saplings, was a man a head taller than 
the rest, who seemed to be the leader. 
With one accord we stopped, 

“ Git down behind a stump,” whispered 
Sammy, quickly. 

We crouched down behind our respective 
stumps and listened. 


146 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


The big man pounded on the door with 
the butt of his gun, which was followed by 
the barks and snarls of the dogs. 

“ Open up ! ” he shouted, “ or we’ll break 
the door down. We’ll I’arn you-uns what 
hit means to shoot ’spectable people ! ” 

“ Guy ! He means business,” whispered 
Joe. 

“ The man that breaks that door down 
gets the contents of a Winchester ! ” came 
in Bob’s clear tones from within. “ I’ve 
got to protect myself, so take warning ! ” 

They stepped back from in front of the 
door at this, and engaged in an animated 
discussion. Finally the big man raised 
his voice so that we could hear, and said : 

“Well, we got to do somethin’ purty 
quick, or them fellers ’ll be back, an’ we’ll 
have our hands full. I don’t wanter shoot 
any o’ ’em, even if they did put a bullet 
into Bill.” 

“ Look’s like they respected us,” said 
Treve softly. “ Suppose we charge on 
them.” 

But Sammy shook his head, 

“ ’Twouldn’t do,” said he. Then, raising 
his yoice, he called : 


IF THE SUNK LANES. 


147 


“ Hello’ there ! ” 

There was a commotion in the crowd, and 
then the big man shouted interrogatively : 

“ Well ? ” 

“ Keckon you-uns air on somebody’s 
claim, hain’t you ? ” 

“ Mebby we air an’ mebby we hain’t.” 

“ I ’low hit moughtbe healthier fur you- 
uns ef you moved, Y’all air on our claim, 
an’ I reckon you-uns knows what the law 
is. There’s four rifles pinted at you now, 
an’ three o’ ’em kin shoot a heap o’ times. 
Ef you hain’t movin’ when I count three, or 
ef there’s a gun raised in the crowd, we 
turn loose ! Y’ hear me shoutin’ ? ” 

The man laughed. 

“ One ! ” warned Sammy. “ The law in 
these parts’ll back us up. Two ! Air you 
movin’ ? ” 

“ We’ll see you-uns agin ! ” shouted the 
man, as his party began to slink out of 
sight. 

“ Yes,” drawled Sammy ; but whether 
this was meant as an acceptance or as a 
derisive reply I do not know. 

We waited several moments after they 


148 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


had disappeared, and then walked bravely 
to the cabin. 

“ Don’t let the dogs out,” said Sammy, 
as Bob unfastened the door. “ Nothin’ 
would suit ’em better than a chance to 
shoot ’em.” 

“ Are you sure they won’t come back ? ” 
asked Bob, as we stood looking at each 
other, with our hands in our pockets, want- 
ing to go to sleep, and afraid to. 

“ No, I hain’t,” replied Sammy, du- 
biously ; ” at any rate we’ll stand watch.” 

“ It is two o’clock now ; four hours before 
morning,” said I, looking at my watch. 
“ Sammy and I will stand the first for two 
hours, and then we will oust two of you 
out.” 

This was agreed to, and the others turned 
in. 

Sammy waited until the regular breath- 
ing of the boys denoted that they were 
asleep, and then said, softly : 

“ I kinder thought we’d have a pow-wow 
to-night. I seed one o’ ’em sneakin’ around 
jess after I shot that turkey ; but I thought 
I wouldn’t say nothin’. To-morrow we’ll 
fix up Loafer’s stable an’ the door, set the 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


149 


small traps, an’ do a leetle snoopin’ around 
for that dugout the fellow told paw he hid 
in a holler tree near the bayou. We 
oughter have that to set the traps. I don’t 
reckon we kin do much more.” 

As I was too drowsy to make a reply, 
Sammy subsided, and we sat and blinked 
at the fire until our watch was up, and then 
called Bob and Treve and turned in. 

Neither watch was molested. 

We turned out early, performed our 
ablutions in the bayou, and while Bob, 
Treve and Sammy, accompanied by the 
dogs, went after our breakfast, Joe and I 
cut a day’s supply of food for Loafer and 
rebuilt his stable. 

“ I never saw so much to shoot at in my 
life,” cried Bob, half an hour later, drop- 
ping half a dezen young rabbits and squirrels 
and three mallard ducks just outside the 
door. 

This pile was trebled by the other two, 

“ But Sammy wouldn’t let us shoot any 
more than we needed,” added Treve, regret- 
fully. 

“ No use,” replied Sammy, philoso- 
phically. “ y’all ’ll git plenty o’shootin’ 


150 


IN' THE SUNK LANES. 


afore ya’ll goes home, an’ there won’t 
be nothin’ wasted.” 

We discussed a breakfast composed of 
rabbit, squirrel, duck and ash cake, washed 
down with black coffee sweetened with 
sugar, and found it very substantial. 

Sammy easily found an old blazed syca- 
more, that proved to be hollow and held 
the dugout propped up perpendicularly 
inside. 

“ I know these parts a leetle better than 
you-uns,” he said, “ so I’ll take most o’ the 
traps an’ the dugout an’ Steve, an’ set ’em 
fur otter an’ mink. 

“ You-uns kin take the rest, with your 
rubber suits, an axe an’ your rifles, an’ set 
’em wherever you-uns think they’ll ketch 
fur ; but don’t forgit to blaze the path so 
we kin find ’em again. Better take the 
dogs with you-uns, too. The rest o’ the 
guns we’ll chuck in a trunk an’ cover up in 
a corner where they won’t see ’em. We’ll 
have to keep things shady till they Tarn 
who we air.” 

Then he threw most of the traps in the 
dugout, with our two rifles and an axe, 
while the rest of us locked one of the trunks 


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m THE SUNK LANDS. 151 

and covered it up with blankets in one 
corner. 

The boys shouldered their traps, rifles 
and an axe, and taking the dogs staided 
into the timber. 

Sammy held the dugout until I scrambled 
down the steep bank and stepped gingerly 
in. It was about like sitting on the point 
of a pin for balancing, and we nearly cap- 
sized before we got three feet from the bank. 

But Sammy was used to them, and after 
assuming an easy position I kept it, while 
he manipulated the paddle. 

“ There’s an otter slide ! ” exclaimed 
Sammy, after paddling quite a distance up 
stream. “That’ll be a scrumptious place 
fur a trap.” 

And with one sweep of the paddle the 
boat was sent to the bank. Hardly had 
the prow touehed the shore when there 
was a crashing of bushes a short distance 
above us, and some heavy body pressed 
through. 


152 


IN TSE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE FIGHT WITH A BUCK. 

Sammy and I looked at each other in 
consternation and gripped our rifles firmly. 

The crashing of the bushes came nearer 
and nearer, until the antlered head of a 
large buck pushed through and the animal 
stood on the bank not more than ten feet 
above us up stream. 

He stamped his feet, snorted and listened, 
but did not see us sitting quietly in the 
dugout below him. 

“ The other fellers started him up,” 
whispered Sammy. 

The faint baying of Boose and the other 
dogs came to our ears. The buck seemed 
undecided whether to cross or go up or 
down the bayou. Finally he swung around 
and faced the direction from which he had 


come. 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 163 

“ Goin’ to make a stand ! ” whispered 
Sammy, excitedly, as I brought my rifle 
carefully to my shoulder. “ Put the bullet 
right behind his foreleg.” 

I was shaking as with the ague. One 
second the rifle was pointed at the bayou, 
the next at the tree tops. I felt cold and 
hot and nervous by turns, and possessed 
every symptom of the “ fever.” 

Inadvertently my foot touched the traps, 
and one rolled down with a clatter. Like 
a flash the buck wheeled and was starting 
straight at us. 

I was afraid he would go, and aiming 
hastily between the eyes, I pulled the 
trigger. But he tossed his head the mo- 
ment I fired, and the heavy forty-five 
glanced off. 

He dropped to his knees ; but was up 
again in a second. He was dazed. He 
whirled round and round, just as you’ve 
seen a dog do when after his tail. 

“ Look out ! ” screamed Sammy. 

It was too late. 

The buck had spun around until he was 
directly over us, and then, missing his 
footing, he plunged down the twelve foot 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


' 154 

bank, and landed with a smash right in the 
dugout. In an instant we were struggling 
in the cold water, 

“ Bl-r-r-r ! ” spluttered Sammy, as he 
came up. 

The dugout floated serenely down the 
stream, bottom up. 

“ Waugh- waugh ! ” I stammered, expec- 
torating several mouthfuls of by no means 
clear water. 

The buck tossed his head viciously and 
swam directly for us. 

“ Don’t let him hit you with his feet ! ” 
shouted Sammy ; “ they’ll cut like knives,” 

I am a good swimmer, but burdened with 
rubber boots that I could not shake off, my 
movements were laborious. He was almost 
on me when I dived, and, with a few strokes 
under water, came up below him and near 
Sammy, blowing pretty hard with the 
exertion. 

“ This is fun,” he growled. - “ We kain’t 
climb these muddy banks with wet clothes 
on afore he’ll git us, an’ the rifles air at the 
bottom o’ the bayou. I wished the dogs 
were y ” 

The buck charged on us again and we 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


156 


thrashed off in opposite directions. The 
buck came on after Sammy, and although 
the little fellow swam valiantly, it was 
right upon him, and he suddenly dived. 

The buck waited until he came up a few 
yards away, and then started for him again. 
Sammy was so exhausted by this time that 
it would have gone hard with him, but just 
then the whole pack of dogs — with the 
setter, pointer and spaniel bringing up the 
rear — came through the underbrush giving 
tongue grandly. It was the most welcome 
music I ever heard. 

They never hesitated an instant, but led 
by Boose came down the bank like an ava- 
lanche into the water. They swam like a 
streak for their prey, and soon the buck 
had all he could do defending himself. 

He fought like a hero for a few moments, 
trying to strike down the dogs who would 
not get in front of him, but persisted in 
chewing the back of his neck, and then 
finding that his efforts were unavailing, he 
turned and swam ^ down stream with the 
dogs trailing out behind. 

Sammy and I swam to the bank and, 
after an exhausting scramble, we managed. 


156 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


by taking advantage of every twig within 
reach, to reach the top. Then, after pour- 
ing the water out of our boots, we ran 
along the bank after the game, and also 
toward the cabin. 

By hard running we passed the deer and 
dogs, and almost breathless we tore into 
the shanty. Hastily tossing aside the 
blankets I unlocked the trunk. 

Sammy selected the little German rifle, 
which was loaded but not capped, and 
slipping on a cap, was ready. I took Treve’s 
10, shoved a ball cartridge into the rifled 
barrel, and Ave ran out to the bayou just as 
the deer and dogs got there. The dugout 
was floating just in front of them. The 
shots rang out, and the victory was ours ; 
but the body sank. 

We were not going to be cheated out of 
it after such an exciting chase, so we cap- 
tured the dugout, made a long line by using 
the chain and pieces of Loafer’s harness, 
and carrying it out in the dugoirt, Sammy 
dived and fastened it to the horns. 

Then Ave carried the end ashore, and by 
main strength hauled it out and up the 
bank. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


157 


“ That is the toughest tussle I ever had 
with a deer in all my life,” panted Sammy, 
“ An’ we’re the first ones to bring one in.” 

“ They ought to be here by this time,” 
said I, “ if they followed the dogs.” 

“ Don’t b’lieve they ever seed the deer,” 
replied Sammy. “ The dogs wus runnin’ 
around, started hit up an’ they thought 
likely it wuz a rabbit an’ let ’em go.” 

“Well, I’m freezing in these wet clothes,” 
I chattered, “ Let’s go back and dive for 
the rifles and traps and get back here and 
dry out.” 

So we paddled back in a half frozen con- 
dition, and after repeated efforts managed 
to bring up the rifles, axe and most of the 
traps. 

“ Now let’s go back to the fire,” chattered 
Sammy, his teeth rattling like castanets. 
“ Hit hain’t no fun goin’ in water in 
November, even down yere.” 

I agreed with him. 

We returned to the cabin, rolled on a 
couple of logs, but not until the temperature 
rose to blood heat were we satisfied. The 
dogs dried themselves at the same time we 
did. Then we had a great feast on venison 


158 


IN THE SUNK LANHS. 


steaks, and to while away the time wait- 
ing for the others to return, we fitted double 
bars to the door, with latch strings. The 
latter could be drawn inside, and thus 
prevent the door from being opened from 
without, but this could be done only when 
there was some one within — unless we 
wanted to batter the door down, or descend 
through the chimney. 

“The old trappers don’t have to lock 
their doors,” said Sammy, “ an’ I reckon we 
won’t when they I’arn who we air.” 

“ When they do learn,” I muttered, 
“ there’ll be a cyclone on a cold day in 
Georgia.” 

Sammy refused to argue. 

“ Seems to me,” he remarked, looking 
out the door, “ that they’ve had time to set 
the double traps they had. Half the arter- 
noon’s gone ; they oughter be showin’ up. 
Eeckon anythin’s happened to ’em ? ” 

“ Not unless they’re lost,” I replied, 
beginning to feel uneasy. 

“ Couldn’t be ef they blazed the way 
like I told ’em to. We’ll hide the trunk 
an’ wait awhile longer, an’ ef they don’t 
kim we’ll have to hunt ’em up.” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


159 


We covered the trunk up in the corner. 
An hour went slowly by. 

“ Oughter go afore dark,” Sammy said. 
“ We’ll leave the dogs yere an’ the latch 
strings out, so ef they git yere afore we do 
they kin git in. I reckon the dogs’ll tend 
to things.” 

So we took our rifles, closed the door, 
and, after seeing that Loafer was well pro- 
vided for, and the deer’s carcass secured in 
the branches of a small hickory, stepped 
out lively over the route traversed by the 
boys. 

“ There’s the first one,” said Sammy, 
pointing to a tree, the bark of which had 
been pealed off about a foot long and six 
inches wide. 

A little farther on could be seen another 
blaze. This had a cross cut below it, 

“ They’ve set a trap near here,” I vol- 
unteered. 

“ Let’s find it,” suggested Sammy. 

We searched carefully around. I found it, 
but not until after I had put my foot into 
it. It was placed in a narrow path, adroitly 
covered with leaves. 

Mr. S. Jimmerson laughed boisterously as 


160 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


he pressed down the stout spring and 
allowed me to extract my foot from the 
painful grip. I limped along after him, 
but failed to see anything to laugh at. 

The crosses on the blazed trees began to 
count up. We came out on the banks of a 
small bayou, when Sammy said: 

“ They seem to have gone in a big cir- 
cle. Consequently, they ought to bring 
up nigh the cabin. There’s another otter 
slide ! ” 

I looked at the smooth, slick place on the 
bank. It reached from the top of the bank 
to the water, and looked as though the 
animal had slid down a great many times. 

“Fm blamed ef they didn’t see hit an’ 
set a trap,” he exclaimed, pointing to the 
faint outlines of one just below the surface. 
“ Some o’ ’em’s got eyes.” 

“ It must be Joe,” I replied. “ He’s 
trapped before.” 

We went on for a quarter of a mile 
farther, when suddenly the blazing ceased. 

We looked all around, but could see 
none. 

“ They either run out ’o traps an’ started 
fur home, or- ” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


161 


He began to scan the ground. 

“ Look yere ! ” 

I looked. 

The imprint of their rubber boots could 
be plainly seen, and mingled with them 
were others made by moccasins and heavy 
shoes ! 

“ I reckon the reason they didn’t kim in,” 
drawled Sammy, “ wuz because they had 
a pressin’ invite to go with some o’ the 
Swamp Angels ! ” 

“ Then you mean — ” I began. 

He nodded. 


162 


IN THE SUNK ZANDS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

CAPTURED BY SWAMP ANGELS. 

Foe obvious reasons it is best to follow 
Bob, Joe and Treve when they started out 
with their traps, axe and rifles. The Quar- 
tette’s custom of relating what happened 
during a separation makes me as familiar 
with what transpired on this trip as though 
I were along. 

They went into the timber on the north 
side of the cabin. Joe took the lead. 

“ We’ll blaze the trees,” said he, “ so we 
won’t have any trouble in flnding our way 
back, and wherever we set a trap we’ll 
make a cross.” 

“ Exactly,” said Bob, as he sliced a piece 
of bark off a tree. “ There is a starter.” 

A little farther on, in sight of the first, 
they blazed another, and here Joe thought 


m THE SUNK LANES. 


163 


it would be a good place for a trap. So 
they placed one in the place referred to in 
the preceding chapter, driving the blade on 
the chain into a convenient log. 

“ Maybe it will catch a fox, coon or wea- 
sel,” Joe explained. “ We’ll set them in a 
circle, so as to get through somewhere near 
the cabin.” 

“ I imagine it will be great sport to take 
a tramp like this every morning,” grum- 
bled Treve, “ and if I understand it right, 
that is what we ought to do. For my part, 
I prefer to shoot.” 

“ So do I,” replied Bob, “ but you don’t 
get so many, and unless you use a bullet 
the shot will spoil the pelt. Then trapping 
is less expensive,” 

“ Oh, I know all that,” acquiesced Treve, 
“ but there is more sport in hunting. Give 
me a gun every time.” 

“ There go the dogs,” broke in Joe, 
“After a rabbit I expect, so let them go.” 

As the reader knows it was rather a 
savage kind of rabbit. 

They kept on, blazing the^ trees and set- 
ting the traps wherever the prospect looked 
promising, until the fifty-four had dwindled 


164 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


down to ten and they stood on the bank of 
a small bayou. 

“ Must be past noon,” said Bob. 

“ I feel as though it was,” said Treve, 
taking up the slack in his vest. “ We’ve 
been going in a circle, and should be some- 
where near the cabin. Let’s postpone din- 
ner until we get home.” 

“ I’m willing,” agreed Bob. “ Why, look 
here, fellows, something’s been sliding down 
the bank here.” 

“ Must be an otter slide,” observed Joe. 

“ Fur is good, ain’t it ? ” asked Treve. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then we’ll have him. Trap ought to 
be set just under the surface of the water.” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ Give me a trap.” 

Treve hauled up the gossamer leggings 
of his boots, set the trap and laid down his 
rifle. Then with the trap in one hand and 
grabbing at the shrubs growing on the 
bank with the other, he half rolled, half 
slid into the water. 

He placed the trap just under the sur- 
face, and tied the chain to a root. 

“ There’ll be a surprise party down here 


IN' THE SUNK LANDS. 


165 


for Mr. Otter next time he comes down,” 
he remarked grimly, floundering up the 
bank, “ And just think ! We’ll have to go 
down every time we set the trap ! ” 

“ That is where the fun of trapping comes 
in,” responded Joe. 

“Sammy was pretty slick, sending us 
out this way while he went in a dugout,” 
murmured Bob. “ We’ll bring him over 
this I’oute to-morrow and see how it pleases 
him.” 

“ Oh, you couldn’t get the best of him,” 
responded Treve. “ He’d slide through 
mud up to his neck, but what he’d convince 
you it was the height of fun to trap in the 
sunk lands.” 

“ Nine more traps to set,” broke in Joe, 
with a sigh. “ Well, come on.” 

“ I wish we could have a tussle with a 
bear or wildcat. If something exciting 
doesn’t turn up pretty soon. I’ll die of 
despondency ! ” 

Hardly had his yearning been expressed, 
when from behind the trees on all sides 
emerged a crowd of men. 

With one impulse the boys halted, and 
involuntarily gripped their rifles. 


166 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

The body of men was composed of one 
third half breeds and full breeds, and two 
thirds the typical vagabond of the woods. 
Their movements were stealthy ; they car- 
ried rifles and shotguns in the hollow of 
their arms, and, as they approached in a 
circle, hemming the boys in, they glanced 
cautiously about as though expecting 
something. 

“ Howd’y ! ” exclaimed a tall man, whom 
Treve and Joe instantly recognized as the 
one in command the night before, when 
the cabin was attacked. They also recog- 
nized the feasibility of being civil, espe- 
cially as they were outnumbered ten to one. 

“ Quite well, thank you,” answered Bob, 
in a well assumed voice of cheerfulness. 

“ I reckon you-uns air glad to see us 
agin ! ” went on the other. 

“ Certainly ! ” replied Treve briskly — 
telling a downright whopper. 

“ Hum ! My name’s Lacy — Jim Lacy ! ” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ Well, that’s what I said ! You-uns air 
moughty peart, you air ; but I reckon we’ll 
take some o’ the uppishness outen you afore 
you-uns git shot o’ us ! We wuz on our 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


167 


Way to you-uns’ place to give you-uns 
Another serenade when Smoky Bill seed 
you a-loomin’ up, so we squatted down yere 
an’ waited,” 

That there might be no mistake as to 
whom he meant, Jim Lacy pointed a dirty 
finger at the yellow rascal. Smoky Bill, 
thus brought into prominence, shuffled his 
feet, scowled and finally grinned horribly. 

“ Well,” said Joe, absently. 

“Well!” said Jim, fiercely. “ I reckon 
sarcumstances do alter cases, sometimes. 
Last night you-uns had the upper hand an’ 
could talk shabby ; but I ’low now you’ll 
howl on t’other side o’ your mouth ! 
Whare’s the rest o’ you ! ” 

“ Find out I ” snapped Treve, who lost 
his temper. 

“ Commenced sarsin’, eh ? Well, we kin 
find ’em ! Drap them guns on the ground 
you afore I feed more lead’n you kin chew 
in six months I That’s right ! Allers obey 
your s’perior ossifer. Now, stick your 
elbows out behind your back, an’ Smoky 
Bill’ll stick a club through an’ tie you up 
real nice — so ! We don’t want any back 
talk I ” 


168 the sunk lanes. 

The boys were compelled to do as they 
were ordered — for the crowd fingered their 
guns in a manner very trying to one’s nerves 
— and Smoky Bill tied their arms securely 
with strips of buckskin and an inane smile. 

“ Now, face to’ards the sou’ west an’ step 
out lively ! ” commanded Jim Lacy. “ Six 
o’ us’ll go on an’ git the cinch on t’other 
two. Ef they don’t move fast enough, 
prick ’em up with a bowie knife ! ” 

“ We’ll stick it clean thri ugh ’em ! ” said 
one of the men, with a cheerfulness that 
sent the cold shivers chasing each other up 
the trio’s back. 

“ Oh, no ; an inch or so will be enough,” 
replied Mr. Jim Lacy, carelessly. 

If Jim Lacy intended to frighten them 
about the depth they would be pricked 
if inclined to loiter, he succeeded ; for, 
although knowing it was simply a bluff, 
they did not know what interpretation the 
guards would make. 

Jim and five of his followers set out to- 
wards the cabin, while the others, giving 
the boys a violent push, started in the 
opposite direction. 

Gall and jvormwood would have been 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 169 

sweet compared with the boys’ feelings as 
they trudged along behind their captors, 
who construed every stumble — and bound 
as they were, these were many — as the 
first principles of loitering, and promptly 
jabbed their knives into their backs until 
they howled. 

“ I would give ten dollars if these fasten- 
ings were off for two minutes ! ” said Treve, 
grimly. 

“ Here, too !” was Bob’s dismal rejoinder. 

They skirted a canebrake that seemed to 
run for miles, and then, switching off, they 
crossed some low ground, where the marshy 
earth made travel trebly diflicult. 

But their captors were as unrelenting 
as ever, and hurried them on, and when they 
came in sight of a settlement of a dozen 
houses the boys were by no means sorry. 

A great pack of dogs ran out to meet 
them, growling savagely at the captives — 
to the amusement of the others — while a 
dozen women possessed of irritable tempers, 
calico dresses, angular features and shrill 
voices, stood in the doorways of their res- 
pective domiciles with their arms akimbo, 
and stared in open-mouthed amazement. 


170 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


The boys were steered to the dirtiest 
and most prominent house, the mistress of 
which, after gazing at them a moment, 
exclaimed : 

“ Good land o’ Goshen ! What fur you 
brung ’em yere. Smoky Bill ? ” 

“Jim said so,” replied the gentleman 
with the obscure name, who evidently res- 
pected the lady before him. 

“ He did, eh ? Well, the Lord knows I 
got all I kin do to feed him an’ the chillun, 
’thout fillin’ three extra mouths. Why 
don’t you-uns divide ’em up ? ” 

“ We object to that,” interposed Bob. 

“ Oh, you do ! ” she cackled. “ Much 
good’ll hit do you. I’ll take one o’ ’em ; 
tote the rest off.” 

“ Jim said put ’em all in the back room 
an’ give ’em somethin’ to yeat till he kirns,” 
said Smoky Bill stolidly. 

“ Good land o’- ” 

“ An’ them bein’ orders, in they go ! ” 
said a fierce looking fellow. 

The woman stormed, tore her hair and 
screamed ; but the men pushed by her, and, 
thrusting the boys in a back room, closed 
the door. 


THX SUNK LANDS. 171 

“ I can’t say whether I feel glad or sorry,” 
said Joe, as the scuffling of feet in the other 
room ceased, although the cries of the 
woman could be heard, trying to induce 
the feminine portion of the settlement to 
take her part. 

“ We’re going to have trouble; mark my 
words ! ” said Bob gravely. “ I can’t think 
why they should bring us down here ; but 
unless Sammy and Steve can manage to get 
us out it looks to me as though we were 
going to stay, and there is no knowing 
what they’re going to do with us.” 

“ I wonder if this is the first principles 
of a ‘ run out ’ ? ” murmured Treve. 

Before the others could ventilate their 
views on the subject, the door was opened 
and a fiood of golden hair and a pair of blue 
eyes peered in. The next moment their 
owner followed. 

“ Gree-whitaker ! Ain’t she pretty ? ” 
whispered Bob. 

“ Hello ! ” said the young lady. 

The boys stared a moment in astonish- 
ment, and then, for want of something 
better, said “ Hello ! ” too. 


172 IN THE SUNK ZANDS. 

She looked at Treve a moment, and then 
asked : 

“ How did you get out ? ” 

Here was Greek ! The boys looked at 
each other, their first intimation being that 
she was poking fun at them, and Treve 
asked sarcastically : 

“ Do I look as though I was out ? ” 

“Well, I should say not ! It was a 
shame to tie you up that way ! ” 

“ Of course it was,” replied Treve, quick 
to take advantage of her sympathetic nature. 
“ Please get a knife and cut these bonds ; 
they hurt awfully.” 

“ Oh, I darsn’t ! They’d kill me ! Mis’ 
Lacy said I could only take a peep an’ must 
come right away.” 

“ What do you ” 

But she was gone, and Treve ground his 
teeth and said some very uncomplimentary 
things about Mrs. Jim Lacy. 

Night came on, and the wind entering 
through the chinks between the logs chill- 
ed them to the bone, while, bound hand 
and foot as they were, sleep was well nigh 
impossible. 

Jim Lacy returned during the night, and. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


173 


judging from his angry tone, the boys con- 
cluded that he had not found Sammy and 
me. Then they dozed off toward dawn, to 
be awakened by Jim Lacy’s voice in the 
next room, 

“ Hit wuz a blamed sight furder from 
where we nabbed the three o’ ’em to the 
cabin’n I thought ; but when we got there, 
there warn’t nothin’ but an old ragged boss 
an’ a lot o’ yellin’ hounds in the shanty. 
We’re goin’ up there agin’ this mornin an’ 
git the other two an’ the old hoss — the dogs 
kin take keer o’ themselves ; I hain’t got 
no hankerin’ to let’em out.” 

Afterward “ Mis Lacy,” accompanied by 
six other women, all armed with clubs, 
came in, and unfastening the boys, bonds, 
placed some venison and ash cake before 
them. 

Their arms were so stiff and lame, from 
being tied so long, that they could hardly 
convey the food to their mouths. To have 
tried to escape would have ended in being 
promptly knocked down. 

The women watched every mouthful dis- 
appear, and finally Mrs. Lacy began : 

“ The igee o’ us pore wimming a-workin’ 


174 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


ourselves to death to keep body an’ soul 
together, an’ these yere fellers with plenty 
o’ money doin’ nothin’ ! ” 

“ Tighten the rein on your husbands 
and make them work,” advised Bob. 

“ I don’t wan’t none o’ your sarse ! ” she 
cried, shrilly, and it was plain to see all 
she wanted was an excuse for pitching in. 
” Hit’s bad enough to yeat our grub, ’thout 
givin’ any back talk. I’ve a good notion 
to crack your haid, an’ would, ef it warn’t 
fur Jim ! ” 

“ I’d do hit any way,” said one of the 
women. “ Ef Jim thinks he’s got to pitch 
onto any one fur it we’ll give him the same 
sarse ! ” 

The women glanced at each other wick- 
edly, and then raised their clubs. In their 
helpless condition the boys would prove 
easy victims ! 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


175 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SWAMP ANGELS IN A TIGHT PLACE. 

Sammy and I gazed at the footprints on 
the ground long and earnestly, and then 
Sammy looked up and said, sharply : 

“ We’re kinder foolish a-standin’ out 
yere starin’ at them tracks, when fur all 
we know the whole gang o’ ’em mebby air 
layin’ fur us behind some o’ these trees ! ” 

I swallowed quickly, and glanced around 
apprehensively. 

“ What’ll we do ? ” I asked, trying to con- 
ceal the helpless inflection of my voice. 

“ The first thing,” said Sammy, “ is to 
remember that we’re not to be kotched. 
Ef they git us, the chances o’ rescuin’ the 
other three is moughty slim ; so we’ll skirm- 
ish around an’ see ef there’s any danger.” 

I recognized the truth of this logic. 

“ You walk off to that side,” continued 


176 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


Sammy, “ an’ I’ll take this. Ef you see 
any one, hold him up an’ holler fur me, an’ 
I’ll do the same.” 

I cocked my rifle and started toward the 
east, stepping carefully to avoid making a 
noise ; but every dry twig seemed to get 
under my feet, and snapped like a pistol 
shot. 

A hundred yards I went, and then, turn- 
ing to the southwest, came upon the trail 
a few yards from Sammy. 

“ I didn’t see nothin’,” said that young 
gentleman. 

“ Neither did I,” I responded. 

“ Now we’ll foller along the trail an’ 
keep our eyes open or we mought run on 
’em ” 

“ In ambush,” I flnished. 

“ Which ? ” he asked, looking puzzled. 

I repeated what I had said. 

” Never heered o’ that kind,” said he. 
” I’ve seed hazel bushes an’ thorn bushes, 
but never ham bushes. What grows on 
em — hams ? ” 

“ No such luck,” I replied, when I could 
control myself ; and then I proceeded to 
explain what I meant. It made him angry. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


177 


“ Look a-yere ! ” he exclaimed. “ Don’t 
sling none o’ your high falutin’ talk at me ; 
speak United States. I hain’t got no book 
Tamin’, an’ don’t reckon I ever will have, 
chucked away in these yere parts.” 

Here he gulped down something like a 
sob, and then went on : 

“ Next season I ’low on doin’ some trap- 
in’ fur myself, an’ ef I kin git money enough 
I’m goin’ over to Jonesboro to school — but 
then, hit’ll take a heap fur board an’ books, 
an’ every one’ll laugh at me.” 

“ No, they won’t,” I hastily assured him. 
“ I’m sorry I laughed just now, but I 
couldn’t help it. Come up where I live, 
and it won’t cost you a cent but railroad 
fare.” 

“ Do you mean hit ? ” he asked, his face 
lighting up. 

“ Of course I do ! I haven’t a doubt but 
what Joe, Bob and Treve would pay that, 
and willingly, too, to be out of the hands 
of the Swamp Angels.” 

“ I don’t want money fur what I do fur 
you-uns,” he said, quickly; “but ef you’ll 
kinder give me a boost when I git there, 
hit’ll be all I ask.” 


178 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

We shook hands solemnly, and for some 
time journeyed on in silence. 

Rabbits and quail got up before us, and 
squirrels barked and frisked about the 
trees, but we dared not shoot for fear of 
betraying our presence. 

“ Well kim down to this canebrake some 
time,” said Sammy, finally, as we trudged 
along by the forest of poles, “ an’ stir up a 
b’ar.” 

“ Are there bears in them ? ” I asked. 

“ Yes, an’ wolves. Sometimes a b’ar 
don’t find a good tree when the cold sends 
him in, an’ then he gits in a canebrake an’ 
makes a nest. When there’s cattle in ’em, 
you’ll find wolves. They hamstring the 
horses an’ slit the throat o’ the calves.” 

The darkness came down rapidly ; but 
happily we came to the place where the 
trail turned off on marshy ground, and 
where we could follow it more easily. 
And when it grew so dark that the trail at 
our feet was invisible without getting on 
our knees, Sammy pulled several yards of 
dried bark off a fallen tree, and, with the 
aid of a match, we soon had a flaring light. 

“ I don’t think they’re layin’ fur us now,” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


179 


said Sammy, “ I reckon they’ve kept on 
fur home ; so we kin use the torch till we’re 
purty nigh there.” 

“ And where is their home ? ” 

“ I ’low we’re about a mile from there.” 

We stumbled on until the baying of a 
hound caused Sammy quickly to extinguish 
the torch. 

“We’ve got to be keerful now,” he 
whispered. “No knowin’ but what some 
o’ em’s prowlin’ round, an’ ef we git the 
dogs onto us, we’re goners ! ” 

I shivered. 

“ And that means ” 

“ Torn up or treed. Ef they tree us, the 
Swamp Angels kin come out an’ git us any 
time they want to,” 

We proceeded cautiously, and soon a 
light could be seen gleaming through the 
trees. 

“ You stay right yere,” said Sammy, “ an’ 
I’ll sneak up an’ see how the land lays. 
Ef the dogs git me, don’t try to help, fur 
ef one o’ us is loose we kin allers do some- 
thin’.” 

I would have protested, but as I turned 
to do so he was lost in the gloom. 


180 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

shivered and waited, expecting every mo- 
ment to hear the baying of the hounds de- 
noting he was caught. Everything was so 
still that the watch ticking in my pocket 
sounded strangely noisy. 

The moments passed rapidly, and still 
no sound from the direction of the light, 

“ Could some one have caught him ?” 
I asked myself. 

The next moment Sammy glided up to 
me like a shadow. 

“ I’m afraid hit’s a bad go,” he whispered, 
“ There’s twelve houses, an’ I don’t know 
which one the boys air in. Everybody 
seems to be inside ; but they’ve left about 
three score o’ dogs out, so that settles our 
peekin’ in.” 

“ What would you propose ? ” 

“ I ’low we’d best sneak off half a mile, 
an’ build a fire to take the chill off. Sorry 
now we didn’t shoot some o’ them squirrels 
an’ rabbits.” 

So we moved carefully off to the right 
until out of hearing from the houses, and 
then we walked briskly for nearly half a 
mile. 

“ This’s fur enough,” said Sammy, coming 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


181 


to a halt and glancing around, “ Now 
we’ll git some dry sticks an’ leaves an’ 
break off some o’ the limbs o’ that old 
sycamore lyin’ yere, an’ have a rousin’ old 
fire.” 

“ Gobble, gobble, gobble ! ” came out of 
the darkness. 

“A turkey!” I gasped, “He must 
have got separated from the rest.” 

“ An’ he’ll never see ’em agin,” said Sam- 
my dryly. “ Ef you’ll build the fire. I’ll git 
him. I don’t b’lieve they’ll hear myrifie.” 

He dropped on his hands and knees and 
crawled olf in the darkness, while I ran 
my fingers over the ground and gathered 
sufficient sticks and dead leaves to start 
the fire. As I struck the match the report 
of Sammy’s rifie rang out, 

“ That’s the second time the turkeys 
have been accommodating enough to servo 
us with a late supper,” said I, as he came 
out of the gloom with the fowl slung over 
his shoulder. 

Sammy promptly skinned and cleaned it, 
and soon the brown meat was roasting over 
the red hot coals on the end of Sammy’s 
ramrod. 


182 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ We’ll lay round the settlement to- 
morrow till the men goes away,” said 
Sammy, after the turkey had been placed 
where it would do the most good, “ an’ 
then we’ll swoop down an’ haul the boys 
out.” 

“ And the dogs,” I reminded him. 

“ Hum. You’ve got a rifle that shoots 
fifteen times, an’ I’ll git one.” 

And with that he rolled over and went to 
sleep. I tumbled a couple of big branches 
on the fire, and followed suit. Mother 
earth is not the softest or driest bed to lie 
on ; but we were too tired with the day’s 
tramp to gather leaves to sleep on. 

I awoke once in the night to hear the 
wolves howling, and replenished the fire, 
and again dropped asleep. 

We turned out early. Two young rab- 
bits formed our breakfast, and then we 
started back to the settlement. 

We were walking along, when the sound 
of voices came from somewhere ahead, and 
Sammy quickly pulled me down to the 
ground. The next moment a crowd of men 
passed by, accompanied by a lot of dogs. 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


183 


some of which stopped and sniffed in our 
direction, but were called on. 

We afterwards learned this was Mr. Jim 
Lacy, on his way to our cabin. 

“ That was a close shave! ” exclaimed 
Sammy, as the voices died away in the 
distance. “ I reckon they’ve got all the 
dogs with ’em.” 

We soon came in sight of the houses. 
As we stood looking at them from behind 
a tree, several women came out picked up 
clubs, and then disappeared in the largest. 

“ I wouldn’t be s’prised,” said Sammy, 
“ but what the boys air in the house them 
wimming went into.” 

“ Same here,” I said, trembling with ex- 
citement ; “ but what are those clubs for ? ” 

“We’ll go an’ see,” replied Sammy. 
Then he walked boldly toward the building, 
and I followed. 

Several curs snarled from under the edge 
of a house, and, as we drew nearer, we 
could hear the shrill tones of a woman. 
The next moment there issued sounds of a 
struggle, and Joe staggered out of the door 
with two women close behind. 

Their clubs were uplifted to strike the 


184 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


defenseless youth, when I threw my rifle 
to my shoulder involuntarily as Sammy 
shouted : 

“Hi, there ! Drap them clubs, or I’ll 
put a bullet through you-uns quicker ’n I 
would a mad dog ! ” 

They gave one startled glance in our 
direction, and the clubs fell to their sides. 

“ Mag, Mag ! Mis’ Lacy ! ” they shrieked. 
“ Here’s some more o’ ’em ! ” 

The struggle inside ceased, and four more 
women piled out of the door, with Bob and 
Treve after them. They ranged up beside 
the other two, while the three boys ran 
behind us. 

There was no time to exchange greetings. 

“ Yere, Cute ! Yere, Cute ! ” called one 
of the women. 

A great blear-eyed hound scrambled out 
from under the house. 

“ Sic him ! Sic him ! ” they shouted. 

He came toward us with open mouth. 
There could be no mistaking his object, so 
I moved my rifle until it covered a spot 
between his eyes, and pulled the trigger. 

The sharp crack of the Winchester was 
almost drowned by a howl from the dog, 



LOAFER CAME BOUNDING OUT OF 'J'UE TIMBER. 







IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


185 


as he rolled over once or twice, kicked 
faintly, and lay dead. The women yelled 
and brandished their clubs, but the fear of 
the rifles pointed toward them kept them 
back. Doors were thrown open, and more 
women and a crowd of children crowded 
out and backed up the six. 

“ We’ve got to git outen yere purty 
quick,” whispered Sammy hurriedly. “Ef 
there’s any guns around yere, them wim- 
ming know how to use ’em. Walk back- 
wards till we git to the timber, an’ then 
break ! ” 

Some boys of ten began to throw sticks 
and pieces of dried mud, and soon the air 
was filled with flying missiles. Seeing we 
were retreating, they became bolder, and 
pressed us hard, yelling like savages. 

We reached the edge of the timber, and, 
turning, took to our heels. This left the 
women out of the fight. The boys we did 
not fear. We could hear them still shout- 
ing when a quarter of a mile away. 

“ That was another close shave,” said 
Sammy. “ Now, we got to go kinder keer- 
ful, or we’ll run agin the rest o’ ’em. Never 
mind talkin’ till we git back to the cabin. 


186 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

There’ll be plenty o’ time to swap stories 
then.” 

We had reached the canebrake, when 
the faint sound of hogs squealing reached 
our ears. 

“ What is that ? ” asked Joe. 

“ Wild hogs, I reckon,” replied Sammy, 
“ They’ve treed somethin’. Mebby hit’s a 
panther, an’ mebby hit’s — well, we’ll sneak 
up an’ see.” 

As we proceeded, the squealing grew 
louder, until it seemed pandemonium had 
broken loose this time, sure. Now and 
then we could catch sight of a hog running 
toward. the sound, and Sammy cautioned 
us to give them a wide berth. 

Then, as we drew nearer, we saw a vast 
sea of moving backs. 

“ Better tie your rifle to you,” said 
Sammy. “ Don’t know what minute we’ll 
have to take to a tree.” 

The boys donated their handkerchiefs, 
which were knotted together, and made 
quite a serviceable string, with which 
Sammy and I tied our rifles to our backs 
in the best manner we could. 

We pushed on a little farther, and a 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


187 


ludicrous sight we saw. Perched in every 
available tree was every one of the men 
who had passed Sammy and me that morn- 
ing. Their faces were pallid, they had no 
guns, while below them surged a mass of 
gleaming tusks and bristling backs. 


188 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A BEAB HUNT. 

“ I BECKON they’ve done gone an’ done 
hit this time sure,” yelled Sammy, with 
difficulty making himself heard above the 
squealing of the hogs. 

The men occupied six trees, the trunk of 
each, as high up as they could reach, being 
totally devoid of bark and deeply furrowed 
by the tusks of the enraged porkers. The 
hogs were of the “ razor back ” species, 
with long snouts, legs and lank bodies, 
and possessed of more rage and voice than 
meat. They would leap up and snap 
viciously at the dangling feet of the men in 
the young pecan trees, in a way that left 
no doubt as to what they would do if their 
prey was on the ground. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


189 


“ Let’s climb a tree,” shouted Bob, look- 
ing uneasily at the hogs beginning to con- 
gregate and watching us out of their narrow 
black eyes. 

“ Go up one at a time,” replied Sammy, 
pointing to another pecan at our back. 

The three boys’ arms were yet lame, 
and it took them some time to accomplish 
the task, while Sammy and I unslung our 
rifles ready to stop any outbreak. 

“ Ef you have to shoot don’t kill him,” 
cried Sammy, as I raised my rifle twice at 
a too presumptuous hog. 

The men in the other trees watched us 
closely. 

At last the others managed to reach the 
branches, and quickly tossing up our rifles 
we scrambled up after them, and not a 
moment too soon, for just as we did so a 
detachment of hogs charged. The next 
moment they were squealing and tearing 
at our tree as they did at the others. 

“ I can’t see as we’ve done a very wise 
thing,” yelled Joe, as the concert beneath 
us quieted a trifle. “ This comes of being 
inquisitive.” 

But Sammy shook his head. 


190 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Ef I’ve calculated right,” he replied, 
“ hit’s goin’ to he the luckiest thing could 
a-happened,” Then, when the squealing 
moderated, which it did every little while, 
he shouted lustily to the men. 

“Oh hit’ you, is hit?” called the tall 
man, surlily. ' 

“ Yes,” answered Sammy. “ I reckon 
you-uns air glad to see us hain’t you ? 
You said you’d see us again.” 

“ Hold your yawp, or I’ll kim over there 
an’ ” 

“ Oh, no you won’t,” laughed Sammy. 
“ What’ll you give us to drive ’em away? ” 

“ Won’t give you nothin’.” 

“ All right, you-uns kin stay up there ! ” 

“ So kin you ! ” 

Then the hogs began to exercise their 
vocal powers again, which stopped the 
conversation and gave credence to the tall 
man’s words. 

“We can drive ’em off an’ git away,” 
shouted Sammy, patting the stock of his 
rifle ; “ but if we do they kin git away, 
too.” 

This seemed a selflsh speech ; but when 
he again opened communication with the 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


191 


gentlemen in the opposite trees we under- 
stood his meaning. 

“ You-uns have got three rifles as belong 
to us, hain’t you ? ” 

“Mebby.” 

“ Tell you what weTl do : ef you-uns’ll 
promise never to pester us again weTl drive 
the hogs off an’ take our rifles an’ let you 
go. What d’ y’ say ? ” 

“ We will ! ” they shouted clamorously. 

“ They’re too ready,” said Bob, as 
Sammy looked at us for approval. 

“ I reckon you’d be too, ef you’d a set 
up there three hours an’ had the chance 
o’ settin up there all day ; but I’ll stop any 
o’ their tricks.” 

Then he added another proviso by shout- 
ing : 

“ Remember none o’ you-uns air to kim 
down till we air gone. Ef a man o’ you 
moves a foot he kivers a bullet. We mean 
what we say, an’ I reckon one o’ you’s got 
a bullet fur tryin’ to steal our boss.” 

“ That was Smoky Bill,” volunteered the 
tall man. “ He’s got the hole in his arm 
now.” 


192 


IN THE SXTNK LANDS. 


“ You kin shoot the most,” said Sammy, 
turning to me. “ Pick a hog out nigh 
each tree ; but whatever you do, don’t 
kill him. Ef you do we’re good fur all 
day.” 

I did not ask why ; but aiming at one 
near our tree put a bullet into his ham. 
Instantly the hog changed his tune and 
commenced to squeal like — well, like a 
stuck pig. Another moment and there 
was one in each group in the same predica- 
ment. 

They ran among the others making for 
the edge of the drove, the rest redoubling 
their efforts for a moment and then fol- 
lowing their wounded companion, probably 
to inquire into its strange behavior. 

A few minutes later the only hog in 
sight was a dead one, lying nearly trampled 
to pieces near the tall man’s tree. 

“ I told Smoky Bill not to shoot that 
shoat,” said the latter, apologetically, as 
Sammy and I stood with our rifles cocked 
while the other three hunted for theirs 
among the guns lying in the bushes. 

“ S’pose you-uns don’t find your rifles ?” 
he added, apprehensively. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


193 


“ Then weTl shoot you for lyin’,” re- 
turned Sammy, cheerfully. 

But the boys did find them, and unin- 
jured, so we promptly left for the cabin, 
leaving the men watching us from their 
elevated positions, 

“ Great Spooks ! There’s a deer ! ” cried 
Treve, as we came in sight of our domicile. 
“ Won’t we have a feast ! ” 

Loafer was all right, as were the dogs ; 
so we built a fire and had a sumptuous 
dinner of venison, during which time Bob 
related what has already been told. When 
it came our turn Sammy said : 

“ Steve kin tell our story, while I take 
the dugout and set them traps. Ef you-uns 
feel like hit, hit would be a good igee to run 
over yourn,” 

Which we did with the result of securing 
one otter, four weasels, three foxes, a coon 
and an idea that trapping was not bad 
after all, but the latter was demolished 
after Sammy had initiated us into the 
science of skinning them. 

A misty rain began just before dark, and 
with Sammy’s return came the information 
that it was snowing. 


13 


194 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“We won’t git much,” he said, “ mehhy 
a couple o’ inches. To-morrow we’ll take 
a b’ar hunt ! ” 

In the morning the snow had stopped, hut 
the air was frosty and keen, while about the 
cabin and in the timber ran a myriad of 
tracks. 

“ Good mornin’ fur rabbits,” said Sammy, 
as we locked up our three dogs, fed Loafer, 
and with the dogs and rifles started for the 
canebrake. Joe carried his little German. 

“ But we’re after larger game,” I objected. 

“ An’ rougher,” added Sammy. “ Our 
dogs have hunted b’ar afore, an’ I reckon 
the five o’ ’em will give him work enough. 
Yours would likely git ripped open or 
squeezed to death the first thing.” 

We were in the zenith of excitement 
when we came in sight of the canebrake. 

Have you ever seen a canebrake ? If you 
haven’t, try and imagine canes the size 
of the fish poles you see at a hardware or 
sporting goods store, and larger, growing 
as close together as the hair on your head, 
and varying in height from your shoulder to 
fourteen feet, and you have a brief descrip- 
tion. 


m THE SUNK LANES. 


195 


“ We kain’t run through yere,” said 
Sammy, “ so we’ll have to be keerful. 
We’ll find the b’ars in the thickest parts, 
where the tops of the canes lap on each 
other.” 

Then he pressed into the canes and we 
followed, while the dogs scrambled and 
tore on all sides. We had to keep pretty 
close to Sammy, for the canes close up 
behind so quickly without leaving a trail, 
that we would be compelled to stop and 
listen to locate him if we allowed him to 
get out of sight. 

Three hundred feet we went, when we 
came to where a young growth was spring- 
ing up, reaching only to our shoulders and 
rising like a mountain ahead. Along these 
we went comparatively easily. 

“ When do we change cars ? ” asked Treve. 

“ Soon as we find a bear,” I replied. 

“ An’ we got him right yere ! ’’ ex- 
claimed Sammy, crowding through a tall 
growth and coming out in an open space, 
in the center of which arose a mound of 
canes ten feet high. 

“What on earth is that?” demanded 
Joe. 


196 THE SUNK LANDS. 

“ B’ar’s nest,” answered Sammy, glee- 
fully. 

“ Have we got to pull it down ? ” I wanted 
to know. 

“ Hit would take a man a week to pull 
that down. Them canes air wove in tight, 
I tell you ; but they’re dry, so we’re goin’ 
to burn him out. There hain’t a dog in 
these yere parts as could go in an’ kim 
out alive.” 

A match was applied, the dogs held off 
facing the dark hole on the ground, and I 
mentally noted a young hickory growing 
on the edge of the cleared space. 

The canes crackled and burnt fiercely ; 
we waited, trembling with excitement. We 
decided that Joe should have the first shot. 

“ Hit’s a-gittin’ warm,” chuckled Sammy. 
“ The old feller’ll think cold weather is 
over shore ! ” 

Then came a growl and a black muzzle 
was thrust out, to be instantly drawn back. 
Then the canes burnt through in one place 
and must have touched his hide, for he 
came out in a hurry. 

The dogs struggled to get loose and Joe 
fired. For the first time since our arrival 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


197 


heXmade a poor shot, and at a bad time, 
too. The bullet knocked off a strip of fur, 
leavihg a white streak that rapidly red- 
dened, and Bruin was mad clear through ! 

The dogs broke loose and made for him — 
not more than twelve feet away. I fired 
hastily and missed. This gave the bear 
an idea that I wanted to see him, and he 
came for me in three great bounds. I did 
not stop to exchange greetings or see what 
the others intended to do, but, dropping 
my rifle, I turned and went for the young 
hickory, “ tetchin’ only on the high places,” 
as Sammy said afterward. 

“ Don’t climb the tree or he’s got you 
shore ! ” yelled Sammy. 

But I heeded not. I landed four feet up 
the trunk and went the rest of the way 
quicker than I ever climbed a tree before, 
with the bear two feet behind and gaining, 
snapping at my feet and trying to catch 
me with his terrible claws. 


198 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

WE BUILD A TEAP AND CATCH A BEAK. 

“ Steve Dane, you’re gone this time, 
sure ! ” I thought, as pursued and pursuer 
made the bai’k fly in clouds from the hick- 
ory. “ You’ve taken too big a tree, and 
the bear can climb faster than you can.” 

I gave one hasty glance down and noted 
the bloodshot eyes, the blood trickling 
down his nose from Joe’s shot, and the 
great, horny claws within two inches of my 
boot heel. 

The boys were running toward the tree, 
under which the hounds were baying like 
all possessed. 

“ Slide out on a limb ! ” shouted Sammy. 
“ Git out as fur as you kin.” 

Without a second’s hesitation I swung 
out on the nearest, and went out backwards. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


199 


The bear seemed surprised, but immediately 
turned around and advanced cautiously. 

I went out farther. The limb tapered 
down to two inches, and bent under our 
weight. I glanced fearfully at the ground 
twenty-five feet below, and tried to calcu- 
late how many bones would be broken if I 
fell. The bear paused, unable to come 
farther, and Sammy fired. 

I saw the hairs drop where the bullet 
went in — too far back of the shoulder to be 
vital. The bear bit savagely at the wound, 
tottered, and then, quickly rolling himself 
into the semblance of a ball, he dropped 
straight on the dogs standing open-mouthed 
below. 

By this means he tried to crush or strike 
them with his paws, and be up the tree 
again before they could retaliate ; but our 
dogs were too wary, and scattered. 

Thump ! he landed. It was a ludicrous 
sight. He seemed astonished that he had 
killed none of them, and, as Bob and Treve 
fired hastily and harmlessly over him, he 
shambled off into the canebrake with the 
dogs hanging to his hams. 

Sammy and Joe were furiously trying 


200 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


to ram a bullet into their muzzle-loaders. 
From my lofty position I could see the 
bear’s movements by the swaying canes. 
He was going in the direction we had 
come. 

I shouted this intelligence to the others, 
and, then, after working mj^ way in on the 
limb, I slid down the tree and secured my 
rifle. 

“ We ought to mortgage ourselves,” was 
Treve’s disgusted exclamation as we started 
in pursuit. “ Every one had a shot, and 
only two bullets touched.” 

Then we tore through the smaller canes, 
and struggled and wiggled through the larger 
ones, perspiring in spite of the chilly tem- 
perature. 

“ There he is ! ” shouted Joe, as we came 
out very near the place we had gone in. 
“ The dogs are holding him ! ” 

The moment the bear saw us he dropped 
on all fours and started off, the dogs fast- 
ening to his flanks and hams, and trying to 
stop him. He would strike viciously at 
them, but the moment he turned to retreat 
they were with him. 

I could have laughed when he stopped 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


201 


with his fore feet on a large log and allowed 
the dogs to fasten firmly ; but Sammy was 
frightened. 

“Boose ! Growler !” he shouted. “Kim 
yere !” 

It was too late. The next moment the 
bear went over, with the dogs stringing 
out like tails, and then, before they could 
get out of the way, he struck out with 
both paws. 

One of the hounds flew through the air 
and landed at our feet with the life knocked 
out of him, and Boose limped off, whining, 
with four big cuts in his back. 

“ I knowed hit,” cried Sammy ; “ but 
that’s the last time ” 

His voice was drowned by the crack of 
five rifles. 

Four bullets went into Bruin’s head, the 
fifth behind his fore leg, any of which would 
have been fatal. 

Sammy bewailed the loss of Growler, 
while the rest of us tried to bind up Boose’s 
wounds with our handkerchiefs. 

“ I guess now we have got a chance for 
Loafer to earn his board,” said Treve. 

“ Yes,” replied Sammy. “You-uns kin 


202 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


stay yere an’ see that nothin’ pesters the 
game, an’ I’ll take Boose an’ go fur him.” 

To this we agreed, so Sammy, with Boose 
limping after him, departed. 

Not a long time afterward he came back 
with Loafer, his bridle and collar, a few 
straps, and an axe. Then he cut down a 
couple of saplings four-teen feet high, and 
tied the butt ends to Loafer’s collar, the 
small end resting on the ground. We 
caught the idea, and soon a strong litter 
was formed, and the carcass of the bear 
rolled upon it. 

With Sammy at the bridle to guide him 
over the most accessible route. Loafer soon 
drew his load to the cabin. Bear steaks 
and bear-paw soup formed many a meal 
afterwards. 

The weather moderated slightly, but not 
enough to melt the snow. 

“ Hit won’t be long at this rate,” said 
Sammy, “ afore the b’ars that is left 
out an’ the wolves’ll be prowlin’ round 
yere fur somethin’ to yeat.” 

“ Then all we’ll have to do will be to 
sit in the door and shoot them,” said Bob. 

“ Hum ! I don’t reckon we kin stay up 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


203 


all night jess to shoot a b’ar. We’ll build 
a trap ! ” 

The quartette glanced at each other 
dubiously, 

“ Oh, I know how,” went on Sammy, 
watching us. “ O’ course hit’s work ; but 
you-uns don’t mind that. We’ll take the 
axes in the mornin’, an’ I betcher afore 
night we’ll have a trap that no b’ar in these 
yere parts kin git out of arter he gets 
inside.” 

“ Make it of wood ?” interrogated Treve. 

“ Yes, an’ koteh em’ alive ! ” 

This we thought would be great fun ; 
but next day, when we were ordered to 
cut down ten trees eighteen inches in 
diameter as a beginning, the fun waned 
mi til you couldn’t have found it with a 
microscope. 

But we were not the kind to back out, 
and with Sammy worked like beavers. 
The site selected was but a short distance 
from the cabin. 

To prevent burrowing, a floor of logs 
was laid, flush with the surface of the 
ground. Then the sides and one end were 
made, the ends of the logs being notched 


204 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

and locked firmly together. Sammy was 
very particular about this. At the open 
end, and at the corners, huge posts were 
driven in both inside and out to strengthen 
it. 

The roof of logs was held down by heavy 
cross bars, which, in turn,, were held by 
chains at each end, running under the trap. 
The door was of roughly hewn, eight inch 
plank, placed horizontally and spiked firm- 
ly together. It was of the sliding pat- 
tern, and dropped between the ends of 
the sides and great posts, and was prevented 
from being moved sideways by additional 
posts. 

The door was raised and held in position 
by a hardwood peg, to which was attached 
a buckskin line and the bait, deer meat 
soaked in honey, discovered by Sammy. A 
pull on the bait would withdraw the peg, 
down would come the door, and— presto ! 
he was caught ! 

“ Don’t it look fine ? ” asked Bob, as we 
surveyed our handiwork toward the close 
of the day, and wiped the perspiration from 
our brows. 

“ Like a silk dress sewed with a log 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


205 


chain,” was the comparison of the irrepres- 
sible Treve. 

“ ’Ef we hain’t too tired after supper,” ob- 
served Sammy, “ what do you-uns say to 
takin’ a duck hunt on Injun Lake ? Hit’s 
about three miles north o’ yere ; but we’ll 
go in the dugout, so it won’t tire you-uns 
out any.” 

“ I believe I would like some fun of some 
kind, after working all day,” said Joe. 
“We haven’t had any excitement to speak 
of since the bear hunt.” 

“ I don’t know’s hit’ll be excitin,” re- 
turned Sammy, cautiously ; “ but we kin 
git a heap o’ ducks and geese.” 

“ Shooting from behind a reflected light ? ” 
questioned Joe. 

“We kin, though I wasn’t reckonin’ on 
that kind. We kin jess hold a torch up 
an’ they’ll fly fur the light, so we kin 
knock ’em over with a stick. Ef you-uns 
want to shoot from behind a light we’ll 
have to rig up one on the dugout.” 

“ We can do that easy,” said Joe. “ We’ll 
make the floor and back of these green 
planks. They won’t burn through in the 


206 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


short time the fire is lit, and a few dashes 
of water will prevent spreading,” 

“ It will be a poor reflector,” said Bob ; 
“ but it’s a go,” 

After seeing that the trap was properly- 
baited, we selected plank enough and re- 
turned to the cabin, where Bob and Sammy 
built the blind. 

After ourselves, the dogs and Loafer had 
been fed, and the dogs locked in — as we 
always did to prevent pilfering on the part 
of Jim Lacy — we followed Sammy into the 
dugout with our breech-loaders. 

It was well loaded, and moved but slowly 
up stream in spite of the two paddles used. 
Fully an hour afterwards, after passing 
through several bayous, we came upon a lake 
a couple of miles long by a half mile 
wide. 

It was pitchy dark, with the heavens 
studded with twinkling stars. On all sides 
could be heard the fluttering of wings and 
the cries of ducks and geese. 

“ Light the fire,” whispered Sammy, 

I did so. The improvised reflector 
lighted up the water for a hundred feet 
on three sides, while on the fourth was 


m THE SUHK LANDS!. 207 

inky blackness. A multitude of ducks 
and geese paddled into the light and stared 
curiously at it. 

Then the breech-loaders threw a hail of 
shot among them, causing them to pay 
dearly for their curiosity. Sammy sent 
the dugout silently through the water, 
the quartette alternately picking up the 
slain and firing into fresh flocks. Sammy 
occasionally changed places and had a share 
in the fun. 

' “ Not another duck or weTl sink the 
boat,” said Bob, after three quarters of an 
hour of the best shooting we had ever had. 

Compelled at last to desist, we reluctantly 
turned about and paddled back. 

The dogs were barking furiously when 
we arrived. Sammy ran in and got his 
rifle, and then followed the dogs toward 
the bear trap. 

“ What is it ? ” I asked, following him 
up. 

“The door’s down!” he shouted glee- 
fully. “ We’ve got him ! We’ve got him I 
There’s a b’ar in the trap I ” 


208 


IN THE SUNK LANHS. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A TBOUBLESOME PET WOLVES ! 

I HUBRiED forward and saw that the door 
was indeed down. An angry growl and 
furious scratching inside told that some- 
thing was in there. 

Then Bob, Joe and Treve came running 
up bearing torches, and by holding a torch 
on one side of the trap, and peering through 
the cracks on the other, we could see the 
huge black form. 

“ There’s two o’ em ! ” shouted Sammy, 
ecstatically. “ A big one and a leetle 
one.” 

“ Nothing less than a battering ram can 
break that trap,” said Bob. 

“ No, sir-ee ! They’re fast enough. We 
kain’t do nothin’ in the dark ; so we’ll let 
’em stay there tillmornin’. Bump yourself 
all you wanter,” he continued, as the bear 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


209 


threw itself heavily against the side of the 
trap. “ In the mornin’ we’ll let you chuck 
yourself agin a bullet.” 

“ What ! Kill it after all the trouble of 
catching it ? ” demanded Bob. 

“O’ course ! We kain’t do nothin’ with 
the big one ; hit’s the leetle one we want 
to keep alive. I reckon we’ll have our 
hands full with jess him alone.” 

“ How about the other big one ? ” asked 
Joe. “ Don’t they usually go in pairs ? ” 

“ I ’low he kain’t get in any more’n the 
one in there kin git out,” returned Sammy. 

“ Well, let’s go to bed,” I broke in. 
“ We’ll probably have plenty of work to do 
to-morrow, and the more sleep we get the 
better.” 

So wo filed back to the cabin and turned 
in, leaving the occupants of the trap to 
make the best of it. 

Sammy had us up early next morning. 
While breakfast was being prepared, he 
made a strong collar of buckskin, and at 
the same time superintended Joe’s and my 
movements in plaiting two twenty-foot 
lariats. 

“ We’ll put on our worst clothes,” observed 
14 


210 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Sammy, “ fur ef the young feller’s very 
big he’ll fight like blazes ! We’d better 
lock the dogs up or they’ll make him all 
the worse.” 

Both of which suggestions were acted 
upon. 

With our rifies, an axe and the lariats 
we repaired to the bear trap. The inmates 
were growling and the large one made 
another attack on the sides of the trap, 
but of course without avail. 

“ The first thing,” said Sammy, “ is to 
stick a rifle through a crack an’ bore a hole 
in the big one. Who’ll do it ? ” 

“ I’d rather you’d give it a chance,” mur- 
mured Bob. 

“ Yes,” replied Treve, sarcastically. 
“ We’d rather let it out so it could chase 
us up a tree and probably kill one of us as 
the other did a dog.” 

“ Shoot it right where it is,” I put in 
hastily. 

No one seemed anxious to perform the 
task, so Treve finally proposed that Joe 
should do it. Every one but Joe was 
satisfied. 

After a great deal of poking around and 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


211 


tapping on the trap to get the bear to 
look the right way, the report of the rifle 
rang out, followed by a heavy thump. 

The smoke drifted out between the logs, 
and when it cleared away we saw the bear 
lying stretched out on the floor. 

“ Loosen up on the chains so I kin slip 
a log out o’ the roof,” said Sammy, “ an’ 
then I’ll tie a knot in these nooses so they 
won’t choke him to death. I hain’t got no 
hankerin’ to fool with his neck.” 

We all peered down through the opening. 
The little fellow raised on his haunches 
and growled at us. 

It was a long time before Sammy got the 
noose over his head, as every time he would 
knock it away, or drop on all fours and run 
around the trap. At last it settled over 
and was instantly drawn taught, and the 
end fastened to a timber outside, so the 
little fellow could plunge and rear and 
scratch as much as he pleased. 

Then the door was raised and the carcass 
of the large one drawn out, the little one 
doing his best to get at us. 

“ Now, I’ll loosen up on the lariat till he 
kin git his head out the door, then some o’ 


212 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

you-uns git the other noose over his haid. 
I reckon we’ll have him then.” 

I kneeled on top of the trap, and as the 
little black head came out in pursuit of 
Treve’s feet, slung the noose over his head, 
and Bob and Joe at the other end pulled it 
taught, 

Sammy allowed the little fellow to get 
far enough away for me to reach the tough 
leather rope, which was drawn through the 
trap, and then the animated black ball was 
between five struggling boys. 

He refused to be led, and promptly sat 
down and braced his fore feet when we 
tried to do so. Finally Treve volunteered 
to let himself be chased, and the bear went 
readily. Indeed, he went so readily that 
before we knew it he had nabbed Treve’s 
heel and took half of his trousers off with 
one sweep of his paw. 

We drove stakes down in one corner of 
the cabin to prevent the dogs ” pesterin’ ” 
him, and when we muffled him and held 
him down, Sammy sewed the buckskin 
collar on, with the end of a chain passing 
through. This was tied around one of the 
logs of the cabin. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


213 


“We don’t tie him outside an’ let the 
old one kim along an’ turn him loose for 
our trouble,” Sammy explained. 

We took the dogs with us every morning 
when we examined the traps, and left the 
cub with plenty of yellow-bottomed acorns, 
of which he was very fond. 

He grew quite docile. Occasionally, how- 
ever, he would hit us a stinging rap with 
his paw — ^just for fun, I suppose — if we 
happened to be within reach. The second 
night of his capture he began to whine 
dismally. The dogs bristled their backs 
and growled ; but we thought they were 
growling at him and paid no attention. 

Suddenly a heavy body threw itself 
against the door with tremendous force ; 
but the thick bars held. Then a hoarse 
growl came from without. 

“ Hit’s the old one,” cried Sammy, as 
the dogs flew to the door and began bark- 
ing. 

We grabbed our rifles and stood waiting, 
not daring to open the door. 

The little one in the corner, which Treve 
had named “ Brute,” redoubled his efforts 
to break his chain and whined shrilly. 


214 IN THE SttNK LANDS. 

Another growl from the outside and another 
blow on the door. Then Sammy drove the 
dogs into one corner and said : 

“ While I sling the door open be ready 
for him ! ” 

All was silent outside. I know my heart 
was hammering my palate when he threw 
open the door. 

A great form towered up ; there was a 
hoarse growl ; the flash of four rifles, and 
the form fell inside with a force that made 
the ground shake. 

“ Dead !” said Bob, trying to keep the 
dogs from biting the carcass. 

“ As my great grandfather ! ” added Joe. 

“ It looks as large as a cow,” I put in. 
“ We’ve got more bear meat than we know 
what to do with.” 

“ The pelt is good,” observed Sammy. 

For several days we did nothing but eat 
and make the rounds of the traps. The 
pelts began to accumulate to such an ex- 
tent that Sammy was obliged to erect a 
shed outside to hold them. 

Then we had a grand deer hunt, and 
brought in five of the noble game, but we 
started so early in the day that we neglected 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 211 ) 

to visit the traps. It snowed heavily dur- 
ing the night, and next morning we looked 
out on more snow than had fallen for 
many years in that country. 

“We oughtn’t to leave the fur in them 
traps any longer,” said Sammy, at noon. 
“ Hit’s been in two days, an’ with this snow 
somethin’ ’ll yeat hit.” 

“ Bob and I ought to be able to make the 
rounds,” said I. “ You can take the others 
in the dugout, or leave them to keep house ; 
but, whatever you do, be sure and have a 
hot supper ready for us when we get back,” 

“ I am willing,” affirmed Bob. 

“ I ain’t,” replied Joe, “if you can get 
along without me. Take Treve in the dug- 
out with you, Sammy, and I will keep 
house.” 

“ Joe’s a pretty good cook,” observed 
Treve. “ I, for one, will let him off if 
he’ll promise to have that supper ready.” 

“ I will,” responded Joe, “ if nothing 
happens.” 

So off we went. 

Bob and I had our rifles slung on our 
backs. The traps were covered with snow, 
except where the game was alive, and the 


216 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


ones that had not been sprung we would 
never have found had we not been well 
acquainted with their location. 

As it was, impeded by the snow, before 
we reached the last trap the darknqss had 
begun to settle. And three quarters of a 
mile to the cabin, and thirty pounds of 
pelts apiece to carry ! 

Off to the right came the mournful howl 
of a wolf. 

“ Say, let’s step a little faster,” said Bob, 
glancing about apprehensively. “ I ain’t 
afraid, of course ; but it is much nicer in 
the cabin than it is out here in the timber.” 

“ Here, too. Bob,” I replied. 

The tall timber looked cold and cheer- 
less outlined against the rapidly darkening 
sky, and the white snow made every nook 
and cranny in the dark trunks more black 
and gloomy as we hurried along. 

A wolf howled oif to the left, and at the 
same time one gave voice behind us. 

“ Say, ain’t they getting closer ? ” I 
asked. 

There was no need of naming what I 
meant. We both had heard them. 

Then a few lank forms began to skulk 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


217 


between the trees on both sides of us, 
occasionally sitting down and howling 
miserably. 

“ I’m afraid we’ll have to run for it,” 
Bob said desperately. “ Let’s pile the pelts 
up in the fork of this small tree, so we 
won’t be burdened, and can save them.” 

We did so. The wolves were getting 
bolder, and it was astonishing how fast 
they accumulated. A dozen seemed to 
come every time one howled. 

We were not far from the cabin now, 
and Bob proposed that we run. In an 
instant the whole pack were at our heels. 
Oh, how we ran, unslinging our rifles as 
we went ! But they were so close behind 
we could almost feel their breaths. 

“ If the door ain’t open, we’re gone ! ” 
and Bob’s voice sounded like a shriek above 
the yelling pack. 

We tore around the corner of the cabin. 
There was no light within ; no smoke issuing 
from the chimney ; the door was closed ! 
the cabin was deserted ! 

The yelling wolves almost knocked us 
over, they were so close, as we fell against 
the door of the cabin, panting. 


218 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


“ Hold them off till I can get the door 
open,” I shouted, as the wolves came for us 
open mouthed, 

I grabbed two or three times for the latch 
string before I caught it, during which time 
Bob’s repeater spoke five times. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


219 


CHAPTER XX. 

• A BAD RETURN FOR A GOOD ACT. 

At last the door swung open and we stag- 
gered in, with the raging pack pressing so 
close behind us that one big fellow was 
caught half inside, trying to follow, and 
was promptly shot and kicked back for his 
trouble. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Bob, as we barred 
the door. “ That was what Sammy would 
call a close shave.” 

Then we glanced around the cabin and 
wiped the perspiration from our brows. 

The fire had burned down until but a few 
coals remained. Brute sat in his corner and 
listened to the yelling without uneasily. 
The trunk containing the surplus guns and 
ammunition was stored away under the 
blankets in one corner, and, as near as we 


220 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

could see, was untouched. The dogs were 
gone. 

“What can it mean ? ” I asked, in an awe- 
struck voice. 

“ It is past my comprehension,” replied 
Bob. “It looks to me as though Joe had 
taken the dogs and gone out for game, and 
has not got back yet.” 

“ No need of that, with the bear meat and 
venison on hand.” 

Redoubled howling and a general fight 
seemed to be going on outside. 

“ Loafer ! ” I gasped. 

“ Can’t be ! I’ll bet they’ve got the 
meat down ! Jerusalem ! They’ll starve 
us out.” 

“ Not much, they won’t. When daylight 
comes, they’ll slink off", unless I’m very 
much mistaken. We’ll build the fire up, 
have something to eat, and wait for the boys 
to come.” 

“ But they can’t come with that pack of 
howling wolves out there,” protested Bob. 
“ This is a pretty mess all around.” 

I agreed with him. . 

We prepared a supper of ash cake, coffee, 
and broiled venison. Of the latter, our 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


221 


supply was limited, for we kept the meat 
out in the cold, and found it all the better 
for it, and the short round left in the cabin 
woidd not last a great while with two hun- 
gry boys. 

Then we lay and watched Brute and the 
fire, and listened to the wolves trotting 
about outside, and for any sound of the 
others. 

Some of our four-footed friends seemed 
to be satisfied, but stayed to watch those 
who were not, so we had company. 

I was firmly resolved not to sleep a wink ; 
but when I returned to consciousness. Bob 
was snoring by my side, and a faint streak 
of light struggled through a crack in the 
door, 

“ Bob, Bob ! ” I called, “ It is daylight, 
and Treve, Joe and Sammy have not come 
yet ! ” 

“ Then they’re not here,” he returned, 
drowsily. 

“Of course they’re not, and it is our place 
to hunt them up. Where do you suppose 
they can be ? ” 

“ Down paying their respects to Jim Lacy, 
maybe.” 


222 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ There ! ” I exclaimed. “ Why didn’t 
I think of that before ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said Bob, sitting 
up. “ We never get lost ; some one always 
lugs us off. First Simpson got you, and 
then Jim Lacy caught the rest of the quar- 
tette. We can trace them easily through 
the snow.” 

“Well, the wolves are gone,” I remarked, 
looking carefully out of the door. 

“ Nothing left but some bones and their 
footprints,” added Bob, sorrowfully, glanc- 
ing over my shoulder. 

We finished the remnant of our stock of 
meat for breakfast, and then, taking our 
rifles, we locked the door and started. 

“ Why, Loafer is gone ! ” exclaimed Bob, 
peering into his shed as he passed. 

“And he didn’t break away, either,” I 
said, “ for his halter was untied ! ” 

We looked at each other, and then at the 
ground. The wolves had beaten the snow 
down around the cabin. We started to 
make the circuit, going in opposite direc- 
tions, when Bob exclaimed: 

“ Here is Sammy’s rifle lying in the snow, 
and it looks as though there had been a 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


223 


struggle, for the snow is all stirred up ! " 

I ran to the spot, and there, sure enough, 
lay Sammy’s rifle. A number of footprints 
led off to the left. 

We walked to the bayou, and saw that 
the dugout was tied to a root, the knot look- 
ing as though it had been made hastily. 
Then Bob said : 

“ Jim Lacy must be decidedly anxious for 
our company, coming away up here after 
us. Perhaps you and I won’t be so fortu- 
nate as you and Sammy were, and may get 
caught.” 

“ Well, let’s put his rifle in the cabin, 
and start. I’m anxious to get them out of 
their hands. What did they seem inclined 
to do when you were captured and tied up 
down there ? ” 

“ Give us food and club us for eating it,” 
replied Bob, dryly. 

We put Sammy’s rifle in the cabin. On 
the south side, where the wolves had not 
obliterated them, we found the tracks of a 
score of men, among which the prints of 
Loafer’s hoofs appeared. 

Farther on, the tracks leading from 
Sammy’s rifle united with the larger ones. 


224 IN the sunk lands. 

Bob looked around, paused, and then said : 

“ This was no doubt the meeting point.” 

“Evidently,” I responded. “But what 
gets me, is where Treve went. He was to 
go with Sammy in the dugout ; but I saw 
but one track leading from the bayou, and 
that was Sammy’s.” 

“ He might be at large,” replied Bob, “but 
that is doubtful. At any rate, he would 
have come back to the cabin before this, if 
possible.” 

We passed on in silence, passing the cane- 
brake and turning off over the low ground. 

“ We’ll have a path worn between our 
humble cabin and the angels’ mansions if 
we tramp down here much more,” said Bob 
at length. 

“ After boys ‘lost, strayed, or stolen,’ ” I 
could not help adding. 

“ Changing the subject : have you decided 
on any mode of rescue ! ” 

“ I have not,” I returned, promptly. 

“ Neither have I. I suppose it would be 
better to see how the land lies before mak- 
ing any plans and wasting breath ; but we 
really ought to have an idea of what the 
other intends to do, in case we are sepa- 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 225 

rated, so we could work in unison. I would 
propose ” 

There was a shrill snort ahead, and Loafer 
came through the timber with hairless tail 
and head erect. He stopped and snorted 
again. 

“Why I began, when three vil- 

lainous looking half-breeds popped up in 
hot pursuit. One carried a rifle. 

Before we could recover from our aston- 
ishment, he did what we should have done : 
covered us with his rifle and told us fiercely 
to “ Drap gun ! Put ten fingers up heap 
quick ! ” 

“How nice !” murmured Bob, allowing 
his rifle to slip to the ground. 

The two worthies accompanying the 
gentleman with the rifle came forward craft- 
ily'and relieved us of the responsibility of 
looking after a Winchester. 

“ Now go that a-way,” commanded the 
commander of the situation, pointing a 
dirty finger in the direction he had come. 

“ Yeas and nays are not counted, I 
notice,” said Bob, as we started forward. 

When we came in sight of the settlement 

we both became possessed of an idea that 
15 


226 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

our arrival might be inharmonious, and 
started back, but our captors waved the 
rifles in such an emphatic manner that we 
changed our minds and went on. 

Our dogs held possession of the bone 
collection, and contentedly gnawed them 
while their hosts looked on. They started 
toward us, but the half-breeds drove them 
back. 

We were led into the largest house, in 
the front room of which were gathered Jim 
Lacy and several others. They looked 
sui’prised, but not a word was said as they 
unbarred a heavy door and shoved us into 
a back room. 

The door closed behind us with a bang, 
and the next moment we were shaking 
hands with Joe, Treve and Sammy. 

“ This is worse’n hens wrestlin’, hain’t 
hit ? ” questioned the latter, earnestly, when 
the first excitement had subsided. 

“ I suppose so,” I laughed, for now that 
we were reunited our spirits rose. “ But 
how did it happen, and what are we going 
to do ? ” 

“ One at a time,” replied Joe. “ Such 
questions are perplexing. I hardly know 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


227 


how it did happen ; but it went off quickly 
and quietly. After you left and Sammy 
had started ” 

“And Treve,” I interrupted. “ Did he 
go?” 

“ No. He felt indisposed at the last 
moment and stayed to keep me company. 
Well, after Sammy had started, we brought 
in a round of venison and were going to have 
a stew, when the door opened. 

“ I thought it was some of you forgot 
something, and turned around to see, when, 
lo and behold, in tramped about twenty of 
our angelical friends ! Before you could 
wag your upper jaw they pounced down on 
us, juggled us in the air until they were 
satisfied and we exhausted, and then they 
took Loafer and we started. 

“ Just then Sammy heard the racket and 
came sailing back just in time to get an 
invitation to join us, which he accepted 
after forcible means had been resorted 
to. So here we are, with Loafer and the 
dogs.” 

“Now how are we to get out ? ” asked 
Bob. 

“ Just before you came in,” replied Joe, 


228 


Iisr THE HUNK LANDS. 


“ we commenced to operate on the logs with 
our pocket knives.” 

“ And,” added Treve, gravely, “ I have 
every reason to believe that if we are not 
molested, we can, in six months or more, 
saw through to daylight.”' 

At this moment Jim Lacy’s voice was 
heard saying : 

“ I reckon we’d better begin to wunst, or 
they’ll give us the slip agin. When we git 
through with ’em they won’t have backbone 
enough to claim the ha’r on their heads ! ” 


IN THE SUNK LANES. 


229 



CHAPTER XXI. 

TRIED WARNED OFF SIMPSON. 

The door was unbarred and opened, and 
the grim visage of Mr. Jim Lacy, Esq., 
peered in. 

“ Well, we got the hnll boodle o’ you-uns, 
didn’t we ? ” he chuckled. “ I told Smoky 
Bill that ef we got half o’ you-uns’ the other 
half would kim down lamb-like.” 

“What do you intend to do with us ? ” I 
asked. 

“ Whatever the court says ! ” 

“ What court ? ” demanded Bob. 

“ Our court. You-uns needn’t think we 
haint civilized ’cause we live out yere in the 
timber. We kin hold as good a court as 
any one in the state, we kin . Y’ hear me ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ! May I ask who has the honor 


230 the sunk lands. 

of discharging the judicial functions of the 
institution ? 

“ Hem, Yes. Kim agin.” 

“ Who holds down the bench ? ” 

“ Hit hain’t abench;hit’s a box,” corrected 
Jim Lacy. 

“ No matter,” shouted Bob, with a great 
show of indignation, “ Who holds it down, 
I asked you ? ” 

“ I do ! ” replied Mr. Lacy, equally as 
loud. “ Say, I don’t want none o’ you-uns 
sarse ! ” 

“ Very well. Our stock of it is limited 
and our price high ; so you are not likely to 
handle any, ” 

“ I jess piked in to tell you-uns, ” said Mr. 
Lacy, moderating his voice, “ that as soon’s 
the rest o’ the boys kim up court’ll begin, 
Furder,” and he pointed his finger at us 
impressively, “ don’t none o’ you-uns try 
to git away, fur there’s guns in the crowd,” 

“ Thank you for the gentle hint,” replied 
Bob, and Mr. J. Lacy retired, 

“Well, this is a great go ! ” exclaimed 
Treve, “ That clodhopper has no more 
right to hold us for trial than I have to hold 
the United States.” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


231 


“ If theilx prosecuting attorney is as big a 
muddle-head as their judge, we would have 
no trouble before a fair-minded man, no 
matter what we were tried for. But Judge 
Lacy ; oh my ! ” 

“ I nominate Joseph B, Miller for the 
defendants’ counsel,” I put in, “ He has 
kept the dust off the books in a law office, 
and will probably work better for us than 
any one else, seeing he is as deep in the 
mud as we are in the mire,” 

Carried unanimously, Joe blushed and 
tried to back out, but we would not let him, 
“ Keep a stiff upper lip and your hair 
combed, sling all the big words you can 
think of at him, whether they harmonize or 
not, and paralyze him,” advised Bob, 

“ It is a one-sided arrangement all the 
way through,” replied Joe, “We don’t 
even know what we are to be tried for, and 
for the life of me I can’t guess,” 

“ I kin,” said Sammy, who had been watch- 
ing us with staring eyes, “ Hits a Simon- 
pure case o’ ‘ run out ’ ; that’s what hit is. 
They’ll wear out a lot o’ willows on us an’ 
then chase us off. But, by gum, ef pap don’t 
make somebody screech fur this I’m ” 


232 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ A prevaricator,” finished Bob. 

“I s’pose so,” admitted Sammy, cau- 
tiously. 

The door was unbarred and Smoky Bill 
stepped in. 

“ As the — collerer, warn’t hit, Ji ” 

“ Marshal ! ” thundered a voice in the 
room. 

“ I knowed hit wuz about the same,” said 
Bill, desperately. “ You-uns will perambu- 
late into court ! ” 

“The old man is on his dignity,” mur- 
mured Treve. “ I wonder if he has got 
plush railings and electric lights ? ” 

We perambulated in. 

Mr. Jim Lacy was seated on a cracker box 
behind a pine table at the end of the room, 
his huge feet spread out underneath and his 
chin resting on his hands. The rest of the 
men were leaning against the walls, with the 
exception of a few who occupied stools. 
Five blocks of wood were reserved for our 
use. 

“ Hit won’t take long fur this case,” re- 
marked Judge Lacy, tickling his nose with 
a pencil, just as though he had a few thou- 
sand on the docket. 


m THE SUNK LANES. 


233 


“ Stand up ! ” he yelled. 

We stood up. 

“ I sentence you-uns to ” 

“But hold on,” interrupted Joe. “We 
don’t know what we are to he tried for ; 
but whatever it is we demand a fair trial.” 

“ Well, hain’t you-uns a-gettin’ hit ? ” 
growled the judge. 

“ No. Let the prosecuting attorney read 
the indictment.” 

Everybody looked at each other. The 
judge looked at the marshal, and the 
marshal looked at the judge. Things had 
taken an aspect they had not expected. 

“ The — the which ?” asked the judge. 

“ The prosecuting attorney,” replied Joe, 
impatiently. 

“Oh! ’’said Smoky Bill, as though it 
had just occurred to him. “ He hain’t yere. 
He took his rifle an’ went squirrel huntin’ ! ” 

“ What ! ” ejaculated Joe. “Oh II see. 
The State refuses to prosecute. That lets 
us out.” 

“ Not by a long shot hit don’t ! ” ejacu- 
lated the judge. 

“ But ” 

“ No buttin’ about yere ; you mought 


234 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


break somethin’. I’m a-runnin’ this yere 
court. You-uns are guilty, bound to be 
guilty, got to be guilty.” 

“ You cannot sentence without telling us 
what we are sentenced for.” 

“Well,” said the judge, condescendingly, 
“ firstly, you-uns hunted on Muddy Run 
thout our permission. Twicely, when we 
brung you-uns down yere, you broke away, 
was goin’ to shoot the wimming folks an’ 
nigh skeered ’em to death.” 

A growl went up from the men. 

“ Surely, your honor ” 

“ Eh ? Kim again,” ordered Mr. Lacy, 
spreading out his feet and contemplating 
his audience with ill -concealed satisfaction. 

Joe saw instantly that he had struck the 
right strain. Mr. Lacy could absorb more 
flattery than he could give him. 

“ I was about to remark to your honor, 
and these intelligent and well-bred citizens,” 
continued Joe, bowing to the former and 
designating the latter with a wild sweep of 
his arm,“ that I must have misconstrued 
his honor’s eloquent and versatile words in 
inferring that our presence here is to 
answer to such an unsubstantial charge. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


235 


As to the first — I presume you know it is 
out of your jurisdiction ? ” and he turned 
quickly on that wonderfully learned judge. 

“ Yes, yes,” agreed the latter, hastily. 

Three of the quartette jammed hand- 
kerchiefs into their mouths, and Joe mopped 
his lips industriously to hide the smile. 

“ As to the first,” pursued Joe, turning 
his back on us to keep from laughing, 
“ according to the unwritten law, Mr. Isaac 
Jimmerson holds the claim we were on, and 
we hunted there with his permission. So, 
you see, your honor could not have meant 
to apprehend us for that.” 

“ O’ course not,” his honor assured him. 

“ To the second charge, that of fMoni- 
ously leaving your enchanting mam ion and 
flourishing weapons before the gaze of 
your gentle and cultured wives, I suppose 
we will have to plead guilty.” 

“ Ha ! ” ejaculated the judge, nodding 
his head vigorously, as though that was 
the detrimental point. 

The rest voiced his sentiments 

“ In that,” went on Joe, rapidly, seeing 
that he had overrated them, “ perhaps we 
have erred ; but we did it in ignorance of 


236 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

the contumacious nature of his honor.” 

Here the judge smiled benignly, at what 
he evidently considered a compliment, 

“ But we have done nothing the law 
will not uphold us in,” continued Joe, 
impressively, shaking his finger at the 
being behind the table, “and if you have 
a copy of Austin’s ‘ Province of Jurispru- 
dence Determined,’ or the works of Maine, 
Mill or Bentham on the subject, I can quickly 
show you passages that will substantiate, 
fully and entirely, what I have said.” 

And Joe pretended to scan the table. 
Mr. Lacy followed suit, went through his 
pockets, looked under his hat and finally 
glanced helplessly at Smoky Bill, who was 
gazing at the floor with his hands in his 
pockets, as though trying hard to think 
where those books were. 

“ I reckon some one must o’ borrowed 
’em,” murmured the judge. 

“ Perhaps so,” returned Joe, sympatheti- 
cally. Then he resolved to hazard another 
“ teaser,” as he called them, knowing that 
Mr. Lacy did not know a third as much 
about law as he did. 

“ I am sorry they Avere loaned, as they 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


237 


are of vital importance in a case of this 
kind ; but no doubt your honor is familiar 
with their contents or he would not be able 
to hold the honorable and influential posi- 
tion to which these well read citizens have 
elected him.” 

“ I — I sartinly have read ’em,” stammered 
the judge, wading deeper into the mire. 

“ Your honor can look it up at his leisure 
if he doubts the veracity of my statements,” 
and Joe gave me a sly kick. 

I took the cue, immediately arose with 
the others, and we started for the door. 

“Where— where be you-uns goin’ ? ” de- 
manded the judge. 

“ To our humble cabin, ” replied Joe. 
“ Surely your honor does not mean to 
deprive us of our liberty after we have 
explained away both charges ? ” and Joe 
raised his voice and eyebrows as though it 
were the most astonishing thing he had 
ever heard. 

“ But this yere court was made to find 
you-uns guilty an’ give you a gineral ‘ run- 
out.’ I reckon I’ll have to take advice 
like the other big ones when they get 
stumped. What do you say, Bill ? ” 


238 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Smoky Bill borrowed a pipe full of tobacco 
and smoked it half up before replying. 
Then he said : 

“ You’re the doctor, Jim. Ef you say 
run-out hit’s run-out, an’ ef you say turn 
’em loose hit’s turn ’em loose. That’s 
what I say.” 

And having delivered his opinion in this 
neutral manner, the gentleman with the 
obscure name plumed himself and gazed 
at the others as though his words were 
bound to be conclusive. 

They were. 

“ He talks like a I’arnt gentleman,” said 
the judge, “ an’ I don’t want to run ’em out. 
An’ then there’s Ike Jimmerson — ” and 
the judge paused and nodded suggestively 
at Sammy. 

“ He’d have to kim down an’ paw dirt,” 
complained Bill. 

“An’ Milt,” said the judge, who seemed 
glad that he could find obstructions. 

“ He’d have to cut up rough,” added Bill 
“ ’cause he said hit had to be a run out.” 

“ Who said so,” demanded Joe. “What 
is his surname ? Where can I see him ? ” 

“ Right yere ! ” said a voice from behind. 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


239 


We wheeled around. The door had been 
opened softly, and standing in it, with 
a shotgun in the hollow of his arm, both 
barrels of which were cocked, was a man 
we instantly recognized. 

“ Simpson ! ” cried the quartette in one 
voice. 


240 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A CONFESSION. 

“ Yes, there he is ! ” cried Mr. Jim Lacy, 
nodding vigorously towards the form of 
Simpson in the door, and seemingly glad 
of shifting the responsibility to the other’s 
shoulders, “ go fur him ! ” 

“ That’s just what we’re going to do,” 
said Joe, with a ring of determination in 
his tone. “ We’ve got a bone to pick with 
you ! ” 

“ And rather an expensive one,” I chimed 
in. 

“ Hear the bantams crow,” laughed Simp- 
son. “ You-uns don’t seem to recognize 
the fact that I’ve got the drap on you.” 

“ There hain’t a-goin’ to be any shootin’ 
done yere,” bi’oke in the judge, stepping 
down from his judicial chair and out of 
range in rather a hasty manner. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


241 


“ Now, Jim Lacy,” said Simpson, “ I 
wanter know why you wuz goin’ to turn 
them boys off when I told you partic’larly 
to make hit a run-out,” 

“ You do ? ” sneered Mr. Lacy. “ Well, 
you’ll have to find out ! ” 

“ I will, eh? ” 

“ That’s what I said.” 

“ Be keerful. I’ve got the upper hand 
yere, an’ not a one o’ you-uns had better 
raise a gun or he’ll kotch buckshot ! ” 

This included every one. The men began 
to scowl and look darkly at Simpson ; but 
they were careful not to move their guns. 
The gentleman in the door was overreach- 
ing himself. 

” Hiss on both parties and we’ll have all 
the allies we want,” whispered Bob. 

“ There hain’t no cause fur you to rile up. 
Milt,” said Mr. Lacy, soothingly. “What- 
ever the court says is square, hain’t it, 
boys ? ” 

“You bet ! ” chorused the men. 

“ Bah ! ” cried Simpson. “ What do I 
keer fur your court ? I’ve got my reasons 
fur wantin’ them boys run out, an’ I reckon 
ef I hadn’t popped in jess’s I did they’d be 


242 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


prowlin’ round same’s usual. Is hit goin’ 
to be a run-out ? ” 

“ The court says no ! ” replied Mr. Lacy, 
doggedly. 

Mr. Simpson said something unpleasant 
concerning the court, which made Jim Lacy 
jump several inches. 

“ Ef I had my rifle ” he began. 

“Well?” asked Simpson, beginning to 
finger the trigger of his gun nervously. 

“ I'd clean hit. Hit needs hit pow’ful 
bad, an’ I thought I’d do hit while you’re 
holdin’ the door,” was the faint reply. 

“ Hum. I asked you once afore ef hit 
was goin’ to be a run-out.” 

“I suppose you know, my vernacular 
friend,” remarked Bob, before Jim Lacy 
could reply, “ that you can’t hold that 
door all day. The moment you start away 
there’ll be a crowd of bullets chasing you.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” returned 
Simpson, calmly. 

“ Why don’t some of you cover him with 
a gun and take his away ? He won’t dare 
to shoot,” I said to Mr. J. Lacy. 

“Won’t he? You don’t know him,” 
was the cheerful rejoinder. “ He’d jess’s 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


243 


leave turn both bar’ls loose in yere an’ git 
away in the timber as not.” 

I moved in back of Jim Lacy. The men 
before me protected my movements, and I 
doubt if Simpson had even an inkling of 
what I had done. 

I took a rifle out of Smoky Bill’s unresist- 
ing hand, and then, shoving it between Bob 
and Joe covered Simpson before he knew 
what had happened. 

“ You don’t seem to recognize the fact 
that I’ve got the ‘ drap’ on you,” said I, 
trying to imitate his voice as much as pos- 
sible. 

His face turned the color of ashes. 

His gun was pointed at us, and he could 
have pulled the trigger, but to have done 
so would seal his fate. Verily he was at a 
disadvantage, although I doubt if I could 
Are at any person unless my life was in 
great peril. 

“ Now, Joe,” I went on coolly, “ will you 
step over and relieve him of his gun and 
that pocket-book which he ought to have 
about him ? Don’t you try to stop him, 
Simpson, or you’ll get a bullet through 
you, and never be any good afterward,” 


244 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Simpson and Joe must have recognized 
those words, for they were similar to the 
ones uttered by Joe when we first made 
Simpson’s acquaintance. 

“ And,” I added, “ don’t try any knock- 
ing down, for I shall watch for just such a 
move and perforate you on the first indica- 
tion.” 

“ You won’t git the money,” he growled. 
“ I’ve put that where you-uns will never 
see hit again.” 

“ Then we’ll have the satisfaction of see- 
ing you serve ten years at hard labor,” re- 
turned Joe, advancing cautiously. 

“ Well, yere’s the gun,” said Simpson, 
holding it out butt first. “ I don’t want to 
see you sneakin’ up fur hit, an’ you’ll git 
hit any way seein’ you got the drap on me.” 

“ That’s right,” replied Joe, more cheer- 
fully. 

“ Ef hit warn’t far you-uns, these Swamp 
Angels would never have tetched me,” 
remarked Simpson, derisively. 

“ Well, we got you now,” responded 
Mr. Lacy with alacrity. “ I didn’t think 
you’d show dirt. Milt,” he continued, in an 
agrieved tone. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


245 


“ I’ll show more’n dirt afore I’m through 
with you,” said Simpson, looking straight 
at the other in a way that made the latter 
quail. 

. “ Now go through his pockets while I 
have him covered,” I broke in, “ and see 
if he hasn’t got that fourteen hundred dol- 
lars stowed away somewhere,” 

The Swamp Angels pricked up their ears 
at that, and I instantly regretted that I had 
mentioned the amount. 

“ Oh, I hain’t got hit with me,” declared 
Simpson, in rather a good-natured tone. 
“ I don’t kerry such a pile.” 

Jim Lacy assisted in the search. 

“ You’d oughter divvied up. Milt,” he 
said, running his hand into a pocket, “an’ 
then we’d a stood by you,” 

“ I’d a-ruther give hit back to the boys 
than took you into partnership,” retorted 
Simpson. 

This showed that Mr. Lacy’s character 
was not above reproach, and also that if we 
found the money while he was present we 
would be placed in the same predicament 
as when Simpson had it. 

“ Well,” observed Lacy, after the search 


246 


IN THi: SUNK LANDS. 


had proved fruitless, “ had we not better 
put him on trial ? ” 

■ No,” replied Joe, “ but you might help 
us take him to Jimmerson’s, and there Mr. 
Jimmerson will find a way of getting him 
to Jonesboro.” 

“ An’ what’ll you do with him there ? ” 
demanded Mr. Lacy. 

“ Lock him up. If he don’t care to tell 
us what he has done with the money so 
we can get it back, he can - go to the peni- 
tentiary, and we’ll help put him there,” 

“ I won’t,” said Jim Lacy. 

“ Go easy, Joe,” I whispered. 

“ Jess’s soon’s you fellers git through 
foolin’ I want to get a deer fur Patty to 
cook,” remarked Mr. Simpson. “ So gimme 
my gun an’ I’ll start.” 

“ You kain’t have your gun ! ” said Jim 
Lacy, waving him back with his hand. 

“ What ? ” asked Simpson, 

“ You heered what I said,” replied Jim 
Lacy, coolly. “ I don’t give you no gun to 
empty into us almost afore you git hit in 
your hands. The fact is. Milt, I wouldn’t 
trust you half as fur as I kin spit.” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 247 

“ I never’d a-thought you’d a-gone back 
on me like this,” growled Simpson. 

“Neither did I,” said Jim Lacy, calmly. 
“ I kinder mistrusted there was somethin’ 
up when you kim bouncin’ in yere one night 
with Miggy an’ your darter. An’ hit wuz 
’cause you nailed fourteen hundred from 
these chaps that you wanted ’em run out, 
eh?” 

“ Quite cute,” added Treve, 

“ Well, I’ll ” began Simpson, angrily. 

“ Now don’t get excited,” I advised, turn- 
ing the rifle toward him in a very trying 
manner. 

He glared furiously at us, and then sud- 
denly his foot shot up and the rifle flew into 
the corner. 

He sprang toward the door ; but Bob and 
Treve were holding themselves in readiness 
for just such an action and were on him 
almost before he reached it. 

They grappled, rolled outside, and Simp- 
son’s wonderful good fortune must have still 
been with him, for he landed on top. Be- 
fore Joe and I could get out he was on his 
feet and running toward the timber. 

“ He’s gone ! ” yelled Jim Lacy. 


248 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Simpson sprang on a log near the edge 
of the woods, waved his hand good-bye, and 
then slipped and seemed to plunge head first 
off” the other side. He did not get up. 

We ran to the spot. He lay on his back, 
with one arm twisted under him. His face 
was slate color. 

“ Don’t pick me up,” he moaned, as we 
crowded around, “ My arm and back’s 
broken ! I’m done fur this time. Put your 
head down, one o’ you, I want — want to 
tell you somethin’.” 

I promptly kneeled down. 

“ Hit’s — hit’s in the stump — stump,” he 
whispei’ed, hoarsely and with difficulty, 
“twenty paces — north o’ the shadder o’ the 
big oak — oak nigh my cabin. Tell — Patty 
— I’m — I’m sorry ” 

His eyes closed and he was gone. 

“ What did he say ? ” asked Jim Lacy, 
eagerly, as I rose to my feet. 

“ Jiist mumbled,” I returned shortly. 

“ If you don’t object we’ll stay here to- 
night,” I said to Jim Lacy later in the day, 
after Simpson had been buried where he fell. 
“ We want to get our riffes, anyway.” 

“ All right,” he responded, carelessly. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


249 


“ And where did Simpson live ? ” I asked, 
in the same tone. “We didn’t see him here 
before.” 

“ Back in the timber a piece,” he replied. 
“ There’s the path yander.” 

At the first opportunity I told the boys 
what Simpson had told me about the money. 

“We’ll go there to-morrow,” said Bob. 
“ In the meantime we’ll get our rifles and 
dogs, so when we start we can shake the 
dust of this place off our feet forever.” 


250 


JN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WE EEGAIN THE $1400. 

It seemed rather a forward way of doing 
— throwing ourselves on Jim Lacy’s hospi- 
tality without even a hint from the latter ; 
but Treve eased our consciences by saying : 

“ He brought us down here whether we 
liked it or not, and I guess now we’ll stay 
whether he likes it or not.” 

Mrs. Lacy gazed on us sourly. She had 
been visiting a neighbor’s when court was 
held, and had remained there during the 
exciting scene that followed. 

“ Didn’t one o’ you-uns say that Simpson 
lifted fourteen hundred outen you ? ” asked 
Mr. Lacy, with a poor assumption of care- 
lessness. 

“ I believe Steve did say something about 
that,” replied Joe, guardedly. “ But as 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 251 

Simpson has died without saying anything 
to me about what he’s done with it, there 
is a possibility that the firm up in Mis- 
souri will have to stand it,” 

“What did he say to you?” pursued 
Mr. Lacy, turning to me. 

I did not want to lie, neither did I care 
to tell him the location where we expected 
to find the money. There was no compul- 
sion to tell everything, so I replied ; 

“ He said to tell Patty he was sorry, and 
then he died without finishing.” 

“ Hum. He died awful quick,” grumbled 
Mr. Lacy. “ I’ve seed fellers hang on two 
days with their back broke, an’ he mought 
have done hit jess’s well’s not an’ told us 
what he done with the cash. But that’s 
the way with some people ; so stingy they 
wouldn’t draw bi’eath ef they could help 
hit, fur fear o’ wearin’ out their lungs.” 

And Mr. Lacy leaned against the wall as 
though loath to give up. 

“ By the way, where is Patty ? ” I asked. 

“ She’s down at the cabin, hain’t she, 
maw ? ” 

“ I reckon she is,” replied Mrs. Lacy. 
“ Leastways she wuz awhile ago when I 


252 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


went down an’ told her her paw was dead.” 

“ Take hit very hard ? ” asked Mr. Lacy, 
without the least show of sympathy. 

“Well, I should say she did! Cut up 
so rough I ’lowed I’d better move to’ards 
home afore I cried myself.” 

“And you left her there all alone?” 
asked Treve, in astonishment. 

“ Why, yes,” replied Mr. Lacy. “ She’s 
all right ; she kin shoot better’n her paw. 
I’ve seed her shoot squirrels away up in the 
top o’ the biggest tree down yere, an’ she 
never hit a-one back o’ the eye.” 

■“ That would equal Sol Dunlap’s shot,” 
remarked Treve. “ You know how tall 
the timber grows down here.” 

“You know Sol Dunlap ? ” questioned 
Mr. Lacy, quickly. 

“ We have met hirn.” 

“ So’ve I,” acquiesced Lacy, ruefully. 
“ Blamed ef the ornery brute didn’t make 
me give him three coon an’ an otter’s skin 
to haul me over his old pond full o’ 
willows.” 

After supper we were awarded the room 
that had been utilized as a prison before, 
Mr. Lacy making no apology for the fact 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 263 

that we were compelled to sleep on the 
bare floor. 

“ Rifles and dogs in the morning, boys,” 
muttered Bob, hunting for the softest spot. 
“ Remember ! ” 

“No danger of our . forgetting it, is 
there ? ” asked Joe. “ If there is, I’d bet- 
ter write it down.” 

Then with coats for pillows, we cuddled 
together to keep warm, and went to sleep. 

Mr. Lacy furnished us with breakfast, 
and we visited several houses before we 
found our rifles. 

With a “ so long,” Mr. Lacy left us. 

“We had better start toward home, and 
then make a detour to reach Simpson’s 
cabin,” whispered Joe. “ If we don’t, we’re 
liable to have more treasure- seekers than is 
necessary.” 

So we whistled to the dogs, and, after go- 
ing quite a distance in the right direction, 
made a circuit around the settlement toward 
the place where the Simpson cabin was sup- 
posed to be. We struck the path Mr. Lacy 
had pointed out, and followed it until we 
came in sight of the cabin. It was in the 
middle of a clearing, by the side of an oak 


254 


IN THE SUNK LANHS. 


tree, that for some reason or other had been 
left standing. 

Around it were scattered the stumps of 
trees hewn down, some of which still lay 
where they fell. Plying the axe on one of 
these, with the skill of a woodsman, was a 
trim little figure in leather and velvet. A 
sombrero, considerably the worse for wear, 
was jammed down over her pretty yellow 
curls, and, as she looked up when the dogs 
ran toward her, we saw that she had been 
crying. 

“ Why, it’s the same girl that looked in 
and thought I was out,” cried Treve, getting 
mixed in his excitement. 

Then we wondered why we had not 
thought of that before. 

“ Great goodness ! ” exclaimed Patty, star- 
ing at us in amazement. “ Which one is 
you?” 

“ This is me,” I explained. 

“ And this is me,” chimed in Treve. 

So Patty was just as wise as she was 
before. 

“ Which one did I see in the cabin ? ” she 
asked, desperately. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


255 


“ Me,” I responded, alluding to Simpson’s 
shanty. 

“ Me,” returned Treve, alluding to Jim 
Lacy’s domicile. 

“ Here, hold on,” interrupted Sammy. 
“ This one, Steve,” and he pointed to me, 
“ you seed first. An’ this one, Treve, you 
seed in Jim Lacy’s cabin.” 

“ Oh,” said Patty, in a tone of relief. 
“ I don’t know you,” and she nodded at 
Treve ; “ but I know this one.” 

And then Treve grew red in the face and 
looked around for something to shoot at, 
while I, inwardly exultant, introduced the 
rest of the X. T. C. Quartette. 

She was just going to get breakfast, so 
Sammy and I volunteered to cut the wood 
and build the fire, while the others went 
out for game. The quintette ate the sec- 
ond breakfast, and thought it better than 
the first. 

“ Did you ever see your father hide any- 
thing in a stump around here ? ” asked Joe, 
beginning to talk business the moment 
breakfast was over. 

“ No. Why ?” asked Patty. 

Thereupon Joe told as much of our story 


256 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


as he thought proper, carefully refraining 
from mentioning that Simpson had held us 
up. Then, turning to me, he continued : 

“ Did he say what time of day to look ? ” 

“No.” 

“ There’s a good many stumps here. 
Good thing that the sun has come out fair. 
Now the shadow is way over there, and 
to-night it will be way over here. So you 
see we will have a great many stumps to 
examine if he planted it in the evening.” 

“ And twenty paces to be paced off to 
each one,” groaned Treve. 

“I’ll help,” volunteered Patty. 

Then we all went out to where the oak 
cast a deep shadow on the white snow. 

“ This will be great fun before the day 
is gone,” said Treve, pacing off twenty 
steps from the farthest point of the shadow. 

It brought him within two feet of a hick- 
ory stump, but investigation proved that 
nothing larger than a pin could be hidden 
in it. 

“ Now perhaps he planted it at high 
noon,” observed Treve. “ People generally 
feel better after a meal.” 

“ Perhaps he did,” returned Joe, dryly. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


257 


“ At any rate, we will not remain idle on 
any such hearsay.” 

And we did nothing that morning hut 
pace off the distance every five minutes 
and examine tree stumps. 

We were beginning to think of dinner, 
when I waded out through the snow. The 
twentieth step would bring me right in the 
center of an immense stump. 

We poked around the bottom and 
scratched away the bark in a listless sort 
of way, for we were beginning to feel dis- 
appointed. I thrust my hand into a heap 
of crumbling bark in a little cavity between 
two roots, and struck something that felt 
smooth. 

With my heart trying to choke me, for 
fear it might be only a piece of bark, I 
drew forth — the wallet ! 

“ I’ve got it ! I’ve got it ! ” I shouted. 

And then, with the others crowding 
around, I sat down on a snow- covered 
stump and counted it, Patty’s eyes open- 
ing like saucers at the sight of so much 
money, 

“ Ten dollars gone, or I made a mistake.” 

But subsequent counting on all sides 
17 


258 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


showed no mistake, so ten dollars was 
charged to profit and loss, and we prepared 
t*o start. 

“ I’m goin’ with you,” announced Patty, 
as we began to gather our rifies and call 
the dogs. 

“ Of course you are,” I returned promptly. 

“ Jess wait till I get my rifie an’ — oh ! I 
forgot to tell you. I’ve got that Bible, an’ 
now you can tell me what them papers 
says in hit. You know I was jess’ goin’ 
fur hit when pap an’ Miggy come ” 

“ Better wait till we get to a safe place,” 
interrupted Joe. “ Lacy might take a no- 
tion to come over here, and explanations 
are odious.” 

Patty fiew into the cabin and came out 
with a light rifie and a Bible, which latter 
I pocketed with a feeling of guardianship, 
and then we started for our cabin, taking 
care to give the settlement a wide berth. 

We found Loafer browsing on the edge 
of the canebrake, and caught him with 
difficulty, for f.eedom seemed to limber up 
his legs. 

We reached our cabin, fed ourselves, 
the dogs, and Brute, who seemed none the 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 259 

worse for being left alone — and then held 
a consultation. 

“ The money ought to be placed in Jim- 
merson’s hands at once,” said Bob, “ We’ve 
been here nearly a month ; had plenty of 
shooting ; trouble enough for double our 
number, and I propose we start for home.” 

“ There’s pelts enough,” said Sammy, 

It never took the Quartette long to make 
up their minds. In less than an hour 
Loafer had been harnessed, the pelts tied 
and loaded into the wagon with Patty and 
Brute. 

Sammy placed the money carefully in 
an inside pocket, promised to be back early 
next morning, mounted, and we watched 
them until they disappeared amid the laby- 
rinth of trees. 


260 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

WHAT THE SMALL BIBLE CONTAINED. 

“ I AM glad that money is on its way to 
the right party again,” I said, with a sigh 
of relief, after the wagon had disappeared. 

“ Well, there’s plenty of work to be done 
yet,” returned Bob. “ All those traps to 
be taken up.” 

“ And there is enough of them, too,” 
added Joe. 

“ Do you think we can get them in before 
dark ? ” I asked. 

“ We can try,” replied Joe. “ Treve 
.and I will take up the ones on land, and 
Steve and Bob can take up the others with 
the dug-out.” 

“ And bring in some ducks for supper,” 
finished Treve. 

“ I don’t suppose it would break Isaac 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 26] 

Jimmerson if we missed a trap or two,” I 
said to Bob, after the others had departed 
and we crawled down to the dug-out. 

“ Hardly. We want to get everything 
done, so when Sammy comes back in the 
morning for the traps and ourselves, we 
won’t have to do anything but load up and 
pile in,” 

Frequent expeditions after water fowl 
had made us perfectly familiar with the 
management of the dug-out, and, under the 
powerful influence of two strong paddles, 
it darted up stream like an animated being. 

We knew the location of the traps almost 
as well as Sammy did. One of us generally 
accompanied him, while the other three 
took the land route. 

The dug-out darted from one side of the 
stream to the other, shot into silent lagoons 
and narrow bayous. We gathered in the 
traps and the game some of them contained, 
and by the time the eighty odd were 
secured it was growing dark. 

So we stopped long enough to scare up a 
flock of teal, dropped seven out of the lot 
and then made for home. The others were 
there before us, tired and hungry, with 


262 IN THE SUNK LANDS. 

their traps and fur dumped down by the 
door. 

There was a merry quartette in the cabin 
that night. The fire roared and crackled, 
and the wind moaned through the tree 
tops. Bob was telling an admirable ghost 
story. 

“ The phantom rider bore down on 
him ” 

Bob’s voice sounded far away. What 
the phantom did when it reached him, or 
whether it rode him down I am unable to 
say, for when I awoke the fire had burned 
down and the others were snoring melodi- 
ously. I could almost hear the thunder of 
those hoofs as I hastily tossed more wood 
on the fire, and then rolling up in my 
blanket, dozed off, to be hauled out by Joe 
at an early hour. 

The door of the bear trap was dropped, 
to prevent any animal being caught and 
starved to death, and the dug-out was 
hauled out of the water and once more 
propped up in the hollow tree. Sammy 
arrived soon after, having made a quick 
return with the empty wagon. We loaded 
on the trunks, the traps and ourselves, and, 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


263 


whistling to the dogs, started on the first 
installment of our journey homeward. 

“ Is the money safe ? ” was my first 
question. 

“ All safe. Maw took to Patty like a 
duck to water.” 

This was good news. It was not long 
before the Quartette, partially to lighten 
Loafer’s load, but more for amusement, 
were down on both sides of the wagon 
diminishing the number of quail. 

“ Things air turnin’ out right along like 
they oughter,” said Mr. Isaac Jimmerson, 
shaking hands all round. “ Got the four- 
teen hundred back agin, an’ fur enough to 
pay you-uns’ fare down yere an’ back an’ a 
good deal over.” 

“ Where does Sammy come in ? ” I asked 
mildly. 

“ Oh, he don’t ask fur anythin’,” said Mr. 
Jimmerson, liberally. 

“ Then,” said I, speaking for both myself 
and the rest, “ with the exception of what 
specimens we select for ourselves, will you 
turn over to Sammy whatever amount the 
fur is worth, and give him permission to pay 
us a visit ? ” 


264 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


Mr. Jimmerson stared at us in blank 
amazement. 

“ And it won’t half repay our indebted- 
ness,” added Bob, who with the others 
had been made acquainted with Sammy’s 
desires. 

“ I will if y’all say so,” he returned, and 
the look on his face told that he did not 
understand it. 

So Joe obligingly explained our reasons. 
Sammy abruptly left off unharnessing 
Loafer and disappeared around the house. 
Mr. Jimmerson was surprised, and also so 
tickled at the thought of Sammy’s becom- 
ing a “ book I’arnt feller,” that he immedi- 
ately departed in search of him, and a little 
later the latter was the happiest boy in the 
State. 

“ Steve,” said Patty, as we were all gath- 
ered in the general sitting-room that even- 
ing, “ I’m jess dyin’ to know what them 
papers in the Bible says, and now’s as good 
a time as any.” 

“ Why, I had forgotten them entirely,” I 
replied. “ Now we will soon know what 
has been troubling the mind of this young 
lady for I don’t know how many years.” 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 265 

Everybody crowded around as I pulled 
out the small Bible and laid it on the table. 
Mrs. Jimmerson placed the candle in the 
most advantageous position, and the little 
Jimmersons opened their eyes and mouths 
to their widest extent. 

There were two envelopes, yellow with 
age, both sealed with a large daub of red 
wax and both of which had been broken. 
Amid a death-like silence I extracted a 
folded slip of parchment paper and read the 
label, written in a cramped hand : 

“ The last will and testament of John S. 

‘Halford!” 

“ What under the sun,” began Bob, but 
stopped as I opened it and continued : 

“ Being in a sound state of mind ^and 
health, I, John S. Halford, do hereby give, 
devise and bequeath to my only daughter, 
Geraldine Halford, all my property, both 
real and personal, wherever found or how- 
ever situated, including twenty-three thou- 
sand dollars in United States four per cent 
Government bonds, etc., etc. Said bonds 
and all rights and titles belonging to me have 
been placed in the hands of one Claribel R. 
Simpson ” 


266 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Oh ! ” burst from the rest of the Quar- 
tette. 

“ To be conveyed, with the said Geraldine 
Halford, to Memphis, Tenn,, to be placed in 
charge of ” 

There the will abruptly left off, signed, 
but neither dated or recorded. “ Well , that 
beats me,” said Joe, turning it over in his 
hands. ‘ ‘ He must have drawn it up himself. 
Evidently the one Claribel R. Simpson was 
either the sister or the wife of our highway- 
man.” 

“ And I suppose the twenty-three thou- 
sand dollars in Government bonds has gone 
the way our fourteen hundred would have 
gone had not that accident happened,” 
remarked Treve. 

“Well, where is this Geraldine Halford ? ” 
I wanted to know. 

Joe gave me a peculiar look and elevated 
his eyebrows at Patty across the table. 

“ You don’t mean,” I stammered. 

He nodded his head emphatically. 

Mechanically I drew out the contents of 
the other envelope. 

A cry of astonishment went up. With 
feverish haste I counted twenty-three thou- 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


267 


sand dollars in four per cent. United States 
Government bonds ! 

We stood like so many wax figures until 
Treve picked up a thin package that had 
dropped on the table unnoticed until now. 
He quickly undid it and disclosed a small 
photograph and a few faded letters. 

“ A blind man could see that this picture 
is the counterpart of Patty, even though it 
was taken eleven years ago ! ” exclaimed 
Treve. 

“ Well, all I can say,” said Joe, solemnly, 
“ is that Miss Geraldine Halford, the young 
lady on the other side of the table, need not 
spend the remainder of her days in the sunk 
lands, with twenty-three thousand dollars 
and interest accrued for a trifie over ten 
years.” 

“ An’ my name is Geraldine, is hit?” 
asked Patty, in a dazed manner. “ An’ 
Simpson wasn’t my pap, an’ I kin go away 
from yere an’ be like other girls ? ” 

“ Of course,” we assui-ed her. 

“ What does the Quartette say to taking 
her home with us,” asked Treve. “ I know 
mother and the girls would be glad to take 
care of her until things simmer down.” 


268 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Agreed ! ” cried the rest. 

“ That is, if Patty is willing,” added Treve. 

There was no need to ask her. She 
danced around the room as though treading 
on air at the prospect of the trip. 

“With her small fortune, Patty is de- 
pendent on no one,” said Joe. 

Except on certain rare occasions, she 
has remained Patty with the Quartette ever 
since, and seems better pleased than when 
we say “ Gleraldine.” 

“ Well, Pm dodswoggled ! ” suddenly 
exclaimed Mr. Jimmerson, resonantly. “ Ef 
this don’t beat anythin’ I ever seed. I’ll yeat 
my haid ! ” 

“ Do you remember Simpson’s wife, or 
sister, or whatever she is ? ” asked Joe, 
turning to Patty. 

“ I remember a woman who used to be 
awful good to me ; but she died a long time 
ago.” 

“ There isn’t a particle of doubt as to 
Patty’s identity in my mind,” said Treve. 
“ But what gets me is why Simpson did 
not sell those bonds.” 

“ Now, that Avould be a rather difficult 
question,” replied Joe ; “ but I account for 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 269 

it like this : Simpson was undoubtedly an 
illiterate fellow, and knew no more about 
Government bonds than a hog does about 
Sunday. Claribel R. Simpson was prob- 
ably in the same state, or, unless he had 
unbounded confidence in her, Mr. Hal- 
ford would not have trusted her with such 
an amount. Supposing that Claribel could 
not read, and being near no one that could, 
she did the best she could and kept the 
child. She could not have done much bet- 
ter any way, seeing that no further directions 
are given. Simpson kept them when she 
died for the same reason.” 

And there we have had to let the 
matter rest, for all efforts to find any one 
acquainted or related to John S. Halford, 
through the newspapers, have proved 
unavailing. The Quartette and all con- 
cerned have accepted Joe’s solution of the 
problem. 

After another coon hunt, and several 
days’ shooting at quail and prairie chickens, 
the Quartette started for home. 

Boose was left in charge of Sammy, who 
promised to keep him for us until we came 
down the next fall, for shooting was too 


270 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


good there to run the risk of finding new 
fields. 

Mr, Jimmerson undertook to teach Brute 
some tricks and thus enhance his value. 
We learned afterward that the cub grew 
considerably larger, and rebelling one day, 
knocked his tutor through a two inch plank 
door, whereupon the latter grew disgusted 
and sold him to a showman for forty-five 
dollars, which he forwarded to the X. T. C. 
Quartette and would listen to no refusal on 
our part to take. 

Sol Dunlap ferried us over Maumelle 
Lake, We noticed he said nothing about 
“ them air Simpsons,” when he saw the 
young lady accompanying us. 

Jim Mills received Loafer reluctantly, but 
was apparently well pleased at the fact that 
he had not been compelled to provide for 
him for a month. 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


271 


CHAPTER XXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

“ Back again, eh ? ” said Mr. Roberts as I 
walked into the office next morning. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Had a good time, I suppose ? What’s 
the prospect on pelts ? How’s Jimmer- 
son ? ” 

Thereupon I told our story and answered 
his various questions pertaining to the busi- 
ness. 

Later in the day he came around and said: 

“ Look up that Appleton account again, 
will you ? I believe you were working on 
that the day before you left.” 

So I went to the vault and hauled out 
the books of the previous year. The papers 
I had used when checking up the account 
before were as I had left them ; but it was 
not these that caused me to give a gasp 
and then shout : 


272 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


“ Caesar’s ghost ! I have it ! ” 

There came a crash in Mr. Robert’s office 
as that nervous gentleman overturned his 
chair and his ever overturning inkstand. 
Then I grabbed a long yellow envelope, cov- 
ered with pencil marks, and, shoving my 
trembling fingers inside, drew out the first 
fourteen hundred dollars that had been 
placed in my possession for Mr. Jimmerson 
to call for ! 

I fiew into Mr, Robert’s office, collided 
with him as he was coming out to see what 
the trouble was, and then, as he sat down 
violently in the waste paper basket, I shot 
across the floor, plunged into a Japanese 
screen and narrowly escaped going into the 
fireplace. 

“ Hi — ho— ho — how ! ” he spluttered, 
“ What’s up ? ” 

“Neither of us,” I retorted. “Natives 
dropped a quarter of a cent by the market 
report this morning.” 

He glared at me as though undecided 
whether to be angry or not, and then, per- 
haps remembering that he should make 
allowances for a person just returned from 
a month’s sojourn in the sunk lands, re- 


IN THK SUNK LANDS. 


273 


placed his spectacles and stared at the 
money I placed before him. 

“ Why — why, where did this come from ? ” 

“ That is the money we thought was 
burnt,” I explained. 

“ I — I don’t understand.” 

“ Neither do I, unless I placed it in last 
year’s books by mistake and left Davis’s 
consignment out for Mr. Jimmerson.” 

“ Which Mike burnt up and which ac- 
counts for our not being able to find it. 
Quite a remarkable incident. Well, well ! ” 

“ If Jimmerson had called and I had given 
him the consignment papers instead of the 
money, I would have been placed in just as 
bad a light,” I told myself, as I returned to 
work. “ If I had not been so worked up 
over the hunt it would not have happened.” 

That evening the X. T. C. Quartette met 
in the club room for the first time after 
their arrival home. Of course the guns and 
rifies had to be polished and put in their 
respective places, as well as the rest of the 
accouterments. 

I told of my good fortune, and then Bob 
said : 

“ The X. T. C. Quartette seems to have 
18 


274 


IN THE SUNK LANDS. 


taken Patty’s financial affairs under its direct 
supervision, and Steve and Treve’s mother 
and sisters, herself. As the president and 
general manager of this illustrious body, I 
have interested father in her behalf, and he 
promises to see that her fortune is properly 
deposited.” 

“ And Patty has decided that she will 
attend the young ladies’ seminary with 
Edith, so we are going to lose sight of her 
for awhile,” I added. 

“ Great Heavens ! ” exclaimed Bob. 
“ Will we have to go hatless and crawl into 
her presence on our knees ? ” 

“ Never ! ” I retorted. “ No one will ever 
get any such fandangle ideas into her head. 
Patty is too sensible a girl for that.” 

And 1 am glad to say she was. 

Sammy paid us a visit before winter was 
over, and of course was visibly impressed 
with his first venture into a city ; but the X. 
T. C. Quartette gave him no time to be bash- 
ful, and shoved him through and into every- 
thing in a way that must have made his 
hair rise. 

He has since educated himself, and 
through Mr. Jimmerson’s and my efforts. 


m THE SUNK LANDS. 


275 


secured a good position in the fur depart- 
ment of Mr, Robert’s establishment, with 
a snug little fortune and a great, large chance 
of promotion. He never fails to accompany 
the Quartette on their annual hunting trip 
to the sunk lands. 

Jim Lacy and his followers paid us a visit 
when we hunted in his region the next sea- 
son, but did not molest us, and soon after 
disappeared. We never heard of them after- 
wards. 

Miguel wandered into Mr, Jimmerson’s 
settlement not long after we returned home ; 
but wandered out considerably quicker 
when four men started for him with guns. 
He has not been seen there since. 

Bob, Joe and Treve remain as of old, 
although I notice they have begun to cul- 
tivate a down on their upper lips and the 
nightly meetings in the club room are less 
frequent. 

The last time I saw Bob he hinted that 
receptions, balls, operas and musicals, 
claimed the majority of evenings in the week 
and I suppose it is the same with the rest. 

And Patty — well, you should see her, for 
words can give but a poor description. 


276 IN THE SUNK LAEHS. 

Four years in a seminary have done won- 
ders, She no longer says “ hit ” for it, or 
“ jess ” for just, but is a brilliant conversa- 
tionalist, You would see a vision of loveli- 
ness with bewitching blue eyes, creamy 
complexion and a wealth of golden hair. 
She is the brightest, wittiest — but there, 
perhaps I am prejudiced. No doubt Bob 
was joking the other day when he asked 
me if any date had been decided on. 

Just before we indulge in our annual hunt 
we have a general meeting in the club room, 
and if any outsiders are present, they gen- 
erally ask for an explanation of our aim and 
object. Then Joe, who, by the way, is 
about to be admitted to the bar, will recount 
the adventures we met with when on our 
first hunt in the sunk lands. 


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